Blinded
by Yuki Scorpio
Summary: Part 19 up! Crawford reflects on his life. A man born evil, he accepts no compromises and has always got what he wanted. But then... before he knows it, he has lost everything. (A sequel to my other Schwarz fics)
1. Part 1

_Hello! After a couple of years, here is my 4th Schwarz fic "Blinded", the sequel to "Epitaph". That obviously means you need to read the fics before this one, which are "010100" and "Epitaph". You'll find them under my account name. Review them too, please! And if you've read them before, it's good to read it again to refresh your memory first!_

Finally, some warnings: Angst, evilness, swearing and spoilers to EVERYTHING related to Schwarz, and possibly shounen-ai.

Enojy the fic, and please write me some reviews!  
=YS=

**Blinded**

Part One

Port of Liverpool, North-West England.

Crawford walks down the waterfront, where some twenty bodies are placed on the ground in a long row, each covered by a sheet of white cloth that is pinned down in two corners by pieces of stone.

The swamp of reporters and cameramen has already left, bringing their flashlights and films with them, enough for tonight's news programme. The sound of water crashing against concrete has drowned out the sobs and hushed voices coming from every direction. No one dares or wants to make any noise.

"Sir?"

He almost forgot why he is here, until he passes by a lone woman, who has peeled back the sheet that covered the body of her son, and let out the most desperate, heart breaking wail he has ever heard. He stops against his will, and watches the woman collapse onto the hard concrete floor. A policeman hurries over to help her.

"Sir... Sir? Can I help you at all?"

"Yes." Crawford takes a moment to gather himself. "I'm looking for a German. Male, late-twenties with long, orange hair."

The young man before him must have been here all day. The lines of his body shows a sad weariness, and his face is blank, knowing that smiles, even if meant to comfort, is not appropriate. "Over there." He points towards a floodlight that has just been erected so that people can search for bodies in the evening. The quicker the bodies are claimed, the better. "Just under the light. He was one of the firsts we found."

//Still the attention seeker.// Crawford leaves the helpful young man and walks to the covered body. Crouching down, he pulls back the piece of white cloth.

A feeling unfamiliar to him begins to boil in his chest.

The body is mostly intact. There is evidence of burn on part of the facial skin, hair, and clothing, but the face is totally recognisable. Crawford peels the sheet down further to find that an arm is gone completely from the left shoulder, presumably from the effect of the blast. He looks down. Part of the left leg, too, has been ripped from the body, as the sheet dents where the leg is supposed to be.

Crawford brings a hand to cover his mouth, as if to contain the strange, foreign sensation that is threatening to overwhelm him. It hurts more than a bullet wound, penetrates deeper than a knife. His legs shake and lose their strength, making him fall to a sitting position. The body next to him lays still in its eternal sleep, undisturbed by the movements or the sob that escaped from Crawford's lips.

Suddenly, he cannot see the body clearly anymore. As his vision blurs and tears begin to fall, he realises this new feeling he does not recognise is what people call _pain_.

This is, as far as Crawford himself can remember, the first time he cried.

If there is a phrase to describe Schuldich's mood right now - 

//Bradley Chiu Crawford!// He says the moment he enters the hotel room, not bothering to knock or say any words of greeting. //I'm bloody pissed off, you hear me? If you had to leave, couldn't you at least leave a note or something?//

It has taken a ridiculous amount of mind reading to track Crawford from Berlin to Liverpool. The cleaning lady and the hotel receptionist saw Crawford leave. The bell-boy who got the cab for him heard him tell the driver to go the airport. Then at the airport, Schuldich had to tune in to every single airline staff he saw just to see if they have dealt with Crawford. God knows how many people he went through before finding out which flight Crawford booked. Then he had to trace his way to this hotel room. The mind exercise was time consuming and annoying, and if Schuldich still has a head, it would have exploded.

Crawford, wearing a black shirt with sleeves rolled-up, and same colour pants, lays face-down on the double bed, giving no reaction to Schuldich's speech. Judging by the way he is still wearing socks and his shoes are on the ground as if they have just been kicked off, Crawford may have just come back not long ago.

Not pleased, Schuldich walks around the bed so that he can see Crawford's face, which is turned towards the window. //Brad, what's your problem?//

Crawford just stares at the window. There is no sign of movement from him except for the slight rise and fall of his back caused by his breathing. His eyes are red.

Schuldich has never seen Crawford like this before. He sits down on the floor beside the bed so that his face is in front of Crawford's. Still no sign from the American. A realisation dawns onto Schuldich - Crawford cannot see or hear him.

//No way.// Schuldich waves his hand in front of Crawford's eyes. Nothing. He sits, wondering what he should do.

With no other options, the German decides to look into Crawford's head.

"Get out of my head, Schuldich." With a groan, Crawford sits up. Then he stops. Something is not right.

//Your barrier's down.// The redhead replies, relieved but stunned by what he just saw.

Crawford's head hurt. The splitting headache that began at the port is taking its time to go away. One word rings in his head: _Schuldich_.

//Brad?//

Crawford turns. The German is here, staring at him with wide blue eyes.

"Oh fuck." Crawford grunts, and falls back into the bed, his head hurting so much he wishes he can just tear it off.

If he chooses to, he can feel Schuldich touching him, arms curling around his head, pressing it against the chest as the German kneels beside him on the bed. But in his memory, he cannot remember Schuldich ever doing something like this when he was alive.

//Brad,// Schuldich whispers as Crawford takes the painkillers that the other man brought him, his movements not hindered at all by Schuldich's arms, because they do not truly exist. //How long has it been?//

Schuldich knows the answer. Crawford has never cried before. The rush of emotions was too much for the body, making Crawford nauseous and giving him a bad headache. The man was too shocked to maintain his mental barrier or to see Schuldich, as if he has finally realised that the German is really dead.

Crawford has never cried before. Schuldich never thought that anyone would shed tears for his death, either. He knows Crawford has made arrangements for the body to be buried in his grave in Berlin. Personally, he does not care. It is just a shell. But it matters to Crawford. Schuldich has never thought this is possible.

//Say something, Brad.// He says, a little louder, almost unnerved by Crawford's silence. He knows Crawford does not like to be seen weak, and the fact that he is allowing Schuldich to touch him this way is not normal. Crawford hates embraces, from women or men alike.

"Go, I want to sleep." Comes the dry reply.

Schuldich laughs. //Where can I go? This country is boring. You don't mind if I stay? You've got a double bed, after all.// He says, knowing that Crawford will shout at him and throw him out of the room.

"... Whatever." With that, Crawford flops into bed again, turns his back to the German, pulls the blankets over himself, and goes straight to sleep.

//Dear God.// Schuldich can only stare. //I've met a very strange Brad today.//

Brad Crawford has fine tastes. He always has. He knows what looks good on him, knows where the fine places are and how to get into them. Pretty things do not move him. _Beautiful_ things do .

//Oh yes, he falls for things - gorgeous long hair, delicate faces, perfect necklines - oh the neck in particular. Long, slender necks with collarbones good enough to bite.//

Schuldich laughs, knowing that Crawford can hear every word he is saying but is not bothering to stop him. //And here he is, Brad Crawford, looking fucking good and being chatted up by a Hollywood actress in the bar of a famous hotel. Makes me miss sex. I think I better go before I ruin it for him.//

With that announcement of departure, Schuldich hops down from where he sat on the bar.

//Wait.//

//Come on, Brad, don't miss this for a no-body like me.// Schuldich laughs again. //I'll tell you what she's thinking - she's already planning what to do with you once you're in her room.//

//I'll tell you what's going to happen tomorrow - there'll be an angry boyfriend and a mop of reporters waiting for me.// Crawford replies, not glancing back at his German friend. He bids farewell to the woman, pays for her drinks and leaves the bar with Schuldich, heading to his room.

//Damn, I thought you were really missing out the sex for me.//

Crawford only replies with an evil smirk.

//You're looking much better today, Brad. I'm glad.// Schuldich suddenly says, looking up at the flashing numbers of the elevator screen. He notices that the American is starting to find those numbers interesting as well. It feels strange to avoid the look in each other's eyes. It is not something they normally do. But Crawford has not been normal for the last few days, either.

//Where were you the last two days?// 

//You know me. Out and about, doing nothing useful.// They exit the elevator and enter Crawford's room. //Figure you might want some private time.//

Crawford does not answer. He is not sure if he does, not after collecting Schuldich's body and realising he is dead. Not after he starts asking himself if Schuldich's ghost is his hallucination. Not after all that he has been thinking through the past two days. He has began to wonder what he wants. Since disbanding Schwarz, he has travelled to so many places, thinking he knows what he is looking for. The truth is, he does not, and that is why he has not stopped moving. He does not know _ why_ he is doing everything he does now.

//You're a bit like Nagi, Farfie did tell you that?// Schuldich catches glimpses of Crawford's thoughts, and remembers the Japanese boy who used to ask himself the same questions all the time. //Except Nagi's the Japanese with the brown hair, and Crawford's the American with the black hair.// He imitates Farfarello's voice, complete with faint Irish accent, extracting a dry laugh from Crawford.

Crawford runs a hand through his hair, looking reflective. Him and Naoe Nagi. Even Crawford himself once wondered about that. 

//That's one thing I never asked you - is that your natural hair colour? 'Coz it suits you.//

There is a long period of silence as Crawford settles himself on the bed without changing out of his clothes. He puts the pillows up so that he can sit comfortably with his back to the wall.

//Or maybe I shouldn't ask?// Noticing the lack of reply, Schuldich quickly wraps up the topic.

"My name. You know my middle name?" The ever-present evil smile is back on Crawford's face as he unexpectedly speaks. "Chiu. It's actually my mother's surname. It's Chinese. "

Schuldich leaves his chair and sits at the foot of the bed, like a child ready for a story. //Shit! You aren't pure-bred American? Your mom's Chinese?//

"She _was_."

//Ah.// Schuldich stares at Crawford, until a small grin finds its way to Crawford's lips, and he grins back. //But what can I say, I'm not surprised.//

"My parents were killed by a burglar in my home. The most unfortunate thing to happen." The hint of smile is still in Crawford's voice.

//I guess you didn't let the burglar live after that.//

"Oh no, of course not." Crawford shakes his head dramatically. "Not for what he did."

//Gods, I love you. You're so bloody evil.// Schuldich finds himself laughing a lot tonight. He gets up when there is a knock on the door, opens it, takes the bottle from the man's hands and wipes his memory clean. The man will faint if he sees the wine bottle floating away from his hands. //Let's do a toast.// He says, pouring wine into two glasses. //To your evilness.//

"To my evilness." Glasses clinked, then Crawford drinks from both, remembering that Schuldich can no longer drink.

//No worries, if I want to taste it, I can just tap into your head and I'll know.// Schuldich adjusts his position on the bed so that he sits cross-legged - the comfort factor no longer matters to him, but he just cannot seem to let go of such human habits. //Come on, let's hear it. Why did they have to die?//

"You want to know?" Crawford widens his eyes. Nobody ever showed interest in his life before. No one ever cared enough to ask.

The German changes position again and lays down on the bed on his side, supporting his head with a palm. //If you don't mind. Start from the beginning.//

"The very beginning?"

//The very beginning, if you will.// If Crawford is willing to tell, this is definitely too damn good to miss.

Setting the glass on the bedside table, Crawford rolls his head back and recalls...

* * *

Brad knew his parents always wanted girls. Or at least his mother did, a Chinese woman who was unloved as a child because of her gender, she was determined to have girls of her own. After his birth, his parents kept trying to conceive again, unaffected by Brad's dangerous premature birth. After the first child arriving fourteen weeks early and weighing only two pounds, the doctors were horrified by the Crawfords' determination to have more children. Once, recalling the birth, Brad's father had chuckled and said, "You just like disrupting people's plans and being a step ahead", which, when Brad thought about it twenty years later, found it only too true.

Brad was the only difficult birth the Crawfords had. James (they all called him Jamie) came a year after Brad, and another two years later, Harriet. It was quite a relief when Harriet finally came along, because if she did not, Brad guessed his parents would just keep trying until they got a girl. Then he would have had an army of little brothers.

Because of the difficult birth, his parents loved him the way they loved a piece of hard-earned treasure. They never let him out of their sight or shouted at him for breaking things, and they bought him mountains of presents whenever they felt like it. Jamie never received as much attention as Brad, it was a common secret, but Jamie was the type who did now allow anyone to feel sorry for him, and Brad was happy to oblige. But that only lasted until they finally had Harriet.

They spoilt Harriet to the extremes, dressing her like a doll, buying ribbons for her gorgeous chestnut brown hair, always getting her presents when they went on business trips. Both Brad and Jamie knew they had became second bests, extras, but they pretended not to care, as boys did. Jamie knew though, as much as Brad did himself, that he in a way loathed Harriet simply for her existence.

Brad could see the future since he was six years old. Everyone knew. Jamie was the only one to believe him, though, because he could see it too. Neither of them had control over what they saw, or when a vision would hit, but Brad always saw more than Jamie, to a greater accuracy. They kept the secret to themselves, knowing what could happen if anyone else found out. The very first time Brad mentioned it to his parents and predicted them winning a prize draw, they were overjoyed when it did happen. They did not let go of Brad then, the child suddenly gaining their attention. It was good, but Brad saw the consequences of how he would be used for such an ability. He carefully allowed his "predictions" to slip, and eventually his parents lost interest in their "lucky charm".

It was then that Brad taught Jamie never to reveal their secret to anyone, not even when both of them craved attention and love from Mum and Dad. Jamie listened to Brad - he always did - and only discussed his visions with his brother. If there was truly anything that separated them from Harriet, it was this special ability, and the jealousy they felt for their sister but refused to admit. Harriet, the pretty little girl, was liked but not loved by her brothers, and she knew it even at her age. Ever since very little, Brad and Jamie never approved of her.

This disapproval bit into her heart, but the parents never realised it. They knew their children's dress sizes and shoe sizes and the ages of their friends, but they did not know what kind of food or games or colours they liked.

Just for the record, Brad liked mint chocolate and cookies-and-cream ice-cream. He liked athletics. He liked black, white and chocolate brown. He liked Jamie, too, only Jamie was too much like the average little brother who always picked fights with him. Brad sometimes wondered what Jamie was trying to prove, because Jamie never won and always listened to Brad in the end. Brad was like the dad their father could not be, and even though the two of them were only a year apart in age, Brad was a lot more mature than his little brother. Brad had always been more mature than children of his age.

Jamie was a fairer version of Brad, with chestnut brown hair from his father, and looks from his mother. If not for their colourings, Brad and Jamie could have been identical twins. Their childhood was filled with Lego, robot toys, trips to the zoo - because Harriet liked animals - and water pistol games, interspersed with occasional visions of what the weather will be the next day, or what the words will be in tomorrow's dictation test.

In the year Brad turned twelve, the summer was unusually hot.

The Crawford family's house was air-conditioned. Brad was comfortably in bed, reading a Chinese novel - Mum had made the point that all her children must learn Chinese. He fingered through the pages, already able to guess what would happen in the next few chapters. Not because of his special ability, but sci-fi novels were usually just plain dumb. Setting the book aside, he ran a hair through his black bangs, wondering what it was that had nagged the back of his mind since beginning of the day, and at the same time telling himself that he should not spend time thinking about it, that he should act more his age instead of always thinking he was an adult trapped in a kid's body. After all, kids should only think about food, sleep and play. Brad told himself once again that he should wait a few more years before truly worrying about anything at all. He did not mind too much. Sometimes, waiting was half the fun.

Satisfied with that thought, Brad settled in his bed to sleep. "Night, Jamie."

Jamie's bed was against the wall opposite. The little boy jerked at the words, and he blabbed out some words as if they had been on his mind all night. "I... I saw something today."

"What?" Brad turned around so that he could see Jamie.

Jamie sank himself under his cobalt blue covers, peeking out just enough to see Brad. "Harri and I are in the car, and you are walking away with dad."

"So?"

"It's goodbye. I know I won't see you again, but I don't know why." Jamie's voice trembled. "I keep seeing this since last week. I don't see anything else anymore."

"Don't be stupid. You're having one of those lapses with what you see again." Brad replied, knowing that his little brother did not know the word 'lapse'. "If you don't sleep now, Mum will blame me tomorrow morning when you don't wake up, and I don't need to see it to know it."

Brad turned around again, indicating this was the end of the conversation.

"Brad?"

"Um."

"You won't leave us behind, right? Harri and I."

"I told you: don't be stupid. " Brad could feel the beginnings of sleep shutting down the active side of his brain. "Harriet maybe." He said, with a laugh. "Not you. Goodnight."

He thought, yes, he probably would not mind leaving Harriet behind somewhere his parents could not find so that they would stop obsessing about her, and pay him some attention instead.

[to part 2]


	2. Part 2

**Blinded**

Part Two

Crawford stops. He takes the glass of wine Schuldich has poured for him to soothe his dry throat.

//My God, you didn't kill her did you?//

Crawford eyes his companion. "You'll find out. Don't jump ahead."

//Yeah yeah, that's your field.//

Schuldich finds himself imagining the siblings. A young Brad Crawford, a Jamie who looked exactly like him but with different hair and skin colour, and a Harriet... //What's Harriet like? Did she look like you?//

Crawford pauses. What was Harriet like? Like the average seven years-old girl. He has never compared himself with Harriet, and no one ever said they looked alike. He pictures her in his mind. They did look alike. All of them were copies of their mother. "Yes."

Schuldich falls silent, studying Crawford's face. After a while, Crawford lifts a curious eyebrow.

//Just imagining a female version of you.// Schuldich grins mischievously. //I won't tell you what I think, you'll be embarrassed.//

//Well when you're ready then.// Crawford's expression changes from questioning to faint annoyance. //I shall continue.//

//Go ahead.//

* * *

Harriet's eighth birthday was drawing close. Besides Christmas, her birthday was always the biggest event of the year in the Crawford family, only this year, her parents were too busy to prepare any presents.

The family, minus Mum, was on its way back home from another trip to the zoo. Dad was driving, and Harriet was leaning against the door at the back, finally asleep after all the excitement of seeing real zebras ("stripy horses") and giraffes ("deer with long necks"). The brothers were reading Silver Surfer comics and talking about which villain was coolest and "evil-est".

They pulled into a car park of a toy superstore, Dad telling Brad to go with him to quickly find Harriet a birthday present whilst Jamie stayed in the car in case Harriet woke up before they got back, so that he could make up some excuse as to where they went. Brad was reluctant to get out of the car into the summer heat, but Dad left no room for discussion.

As Brad opened the door, a vision came to him with a force that was almost like being punched in the face. He quickly grabbed hold of the door for balance.

_Jamie and Harriet are asleep in the car. Jamie loses balance when Brad climbs in, and falls towards Harriet. Dad makes a comment on how kids use up their energy as if they were on batteries, then he leans into the passenger seat to tell Jamie not to put his weight on his little sister. Jamie does not even stir._

"No! I want to go too!" Jamie was not happy with the plan. "I want to go!"

"Just stay in the car, Jamie." Dad said and walked away, leaving the child no choice.

Jamie was looking at Brad, who glanced between him and his father. Something in Jamie's voice changed. "Brad... don't go. I won't see you again if you do."

Brad just stared at him.

"Please! It's true! Don't go!" Frightful tears filled Jamie's eyes. He reached out to pull at Brad's arm. "You said you won't leave Harri and I behind!"

But if he did...

When Brad made no reply, Jamie sniffed and choked his words out. "You're choosing Mum and Dad, aren't you?"

Jamie knew what was going to happen. And so did Brad.

Brad just pretended he did not know what Jamie was talking about. "I've got to go."

"Brad... You never loved me did you?"

Brad smiled. "I do, don't be stupid." Just not as much as Brad loved himself.

He shut the door.

* * *

Crawford stares into the space in front of him, for a moment forgetting about Schuldich being in the room. He thinks of Jamie, the ten years-old brother who looked so much like himself, holding his arm so desperately and begging him not to leave. Begging him not to let him die.

"They were almost gone when my father and I got back. Carbon monoxide poisoning from broken air-con."

Schuldich's lips part in surprise, not because of what he has just heard, but because of the tone of Crawford's voice. His face, for once, is almost solemn. //Are you regretting it?//

Crawford does not need to think for an answer. "There are very few things I regret." Clairvoyance leaves little chance for that to happen. "This isn't one of them."

//Then Brad,// Schuldich asks, not knowing why he is whispering. //Why that look on your face now?//

Crawford's eyes are dry. So dry that they sting and tiny blood vessels show in the whites. He closes them, and sees Jamie's face. He sees his mother put out black-and-white photographs of Jamie and Harriet, with an ash pot where she would place incense sticks for them, the Chinese way. She drove far to find a temple where she could burn finely made paper cars, paper clothing, paper money, so that his siblings' could use them in their afterlives.

He hears Jamie asking him not to let him go.

He hears himself saying that he does not care about Harriet, but will not leave Jamie behind.

He sees himself shutting the door, the sound of the slam echoing in his mind.

//Why didn't you run away? You saw that I wouldn't save you. You knew.//

//Brad, kids have no concept or fear for death. To them, rejection is far worse.

//He was only a little boy who saw you as the only person who really cared about him. If he ran, he had nothing left, not even you. If he stayed, he could still hope that you would prove his vision wrong.//

Crawford slowly opens his eyes to find that Schuldich has sat himself closer to him now, just next to the pillow on the unoccupied side of the bed. Schuldich's words are tugging at something inside him. The way he sits, with the underside of his feet pressed together and his hands holding them...

The way Schuldich smiled, when Crawford first saw his ghost...

The way Schuldich would suddenly turn around and shout "Kodak moment!" and then laugh until he choked...

//Remember what you said in your head when I found you in London? 'Forever a child, isn't he'.// Schuldich smiles somewhat bitterly. //You're right, you know? I'm just like Jamie. I'm just another kid who...// He trails off, smiling to himself.

//Be quiet.// Crawford does not want to hear it. Not right now, because his mind cannot handle it right now. He does not feel the control he often has.

//Hey.// Schuldich looks up again at the American, eyes peeking from under hair that is let loose instead of held back by a headband. He is relaxed, and happy. He feels almost serene. //I never said I blamed you. I was angry, but I couldn't blame you for leaving. You never promised me anything since the beginning anyway.//

Yes, he never did promise Schuldich anything, apart from an escape from the SS. But he did tell Jamie he would not leave him. That was the only time he ever went back on his word, if the lies he told to his clients - idiots like that Takatori - during his time in SS did not count.

Crawford cannot say he regrets his decision, but... "The price of getting rid of Harriet was higher than I expected."

That is all. It has to be.

* * *

Mrs. Crawford's footsteps echoed in the hospital corridor as she ran towards her husband, still dressed in suit and high heels from the business meeting. He held her in his arms and told her that the children would be fine as he shook in fear himself.

Brad just watched them, devoid of all feelings. Twenty minutes later, a doctor walked out of the emergency room, and told his parents what Brad already knew - they could not save Jamie and Harriet. The family huddled together and cried - or his parents did, at least. Mum was close to fainting, Dad was cursing himself for leaving the children in the car, and Brad just watched. The doctor noticed his silence and suggested to his parents that he might be in shock from the deaths.

His parents just kneeled down and hugged him, all the time whispering their apologies, their regrets, and thanking God that they still had Brad.

It all worked as Brad thought it would in his twelve years-old brain.

His parents loved him more than they ever did to Harriet and Jamie put together. Brad had anything and everything he wanted, from complete attention to model cars to trips to the movies to the latest comic books, he only needed to ask to have them. This was not to say he did not deserve it. Brad was the perfect child every relative loved, every neighbour praised, and every parent wanted. Good-looking, obedient, polite and smart, Brad was the Crawfords' pride and joy.

But they had their demands too. Since the death of his siblings, Brad began going to classes of whatever his parents wanted him to learn. As Brad grew up, he found his days were gradually filled with piano, saxophone and violin lessons, art classes, shooting courses, fencing sessions, and talks of him becoming a doctor, or a lawyer, or an architect... He was doing everything his parents wanted him and his siblings to do, reaching for the stars his parents wished they got when they were young. Brad was made to achieve the dreams his parents had for all five people in the family, alive or dead, past or present.

Brad attended all the classes, and excelled in each one. He was the perfect child, after all.

* * *

//Hold on a minute!// Schuldich yelps, unable to refrain himself from interrupting Crawford's story. //You mean you can talk Chinese and play piano sax violin and draw and paint and - WHAT???//

"And a lot more." Crawford eyes the German, amused at the reaction. "Problem?"

Schuldich laughs softly, fine hair tumbling into his face as he does. //Surprise me more, Brad. Tell me something you _can't_ do. Cook? Dance? Calculus? Triple somersaults?//

"I'll save that for later."

//And Brad,// Schuldich pauses, asking himself if he should ask this question. //Will you let me know later too why you're telling me all this?//

Crawford stares at Schuldich. The feeling of dread fleets across inside as he realises what the answer to that question is. An answer he normally does not give to any questions asked. //I don't know yet.//

Schuldich wonders if that means Crawford does not know if he will tell him why, or if he does not know why he is telling the tale right now, but decides not to ask.

Crawford slides himself down so that he is almost completely lying down on the bed, half sighing as he sinks into the comfortable mattress. He blinks when Schuldich reaches over to undo the top two buttons of his shirt with quick fingers. Schuldich gives him a childish grin, showing two rows of white teeth. //Let's get you nice and relaxed before you continue.//

So he does.

* * *

There were two flaws in his cunning plan. But given the little time he had to decide if he should let Harriet die, Brad knew he could not have it exactly the way he wanted.

The first flaw was that Jamie was dead.

Jamie was his closest friend, the only one he could talk to after parting with friends from school every afternoon, becasue the kids in the neighbourhood were too young for Brad to even bother with. Jamie shared his room, shared the same looks from their mother, shared Brad's strange ability of seeing the future. He could have shared the burden Brad was carrying now. The list of his parents' endless demands were only getting longer. They were proud of but never satisfied with Brad, always asking for more, more, telling him to push just that little further. The Crawfords could not be satisfied, and Brad's desire to be the best at everything was insatiable, it was a system that worked well. As long as his parents were willing to inject the cash, Brad was willing to learn whatever there was to learn, just so that he could be the best, and so that he would have all the skills he needed to not rely on anyone anymore...

... So that he could be independent as soon as possible from two people who only loved him because he was the only one left; who never believed in his strengths, always pestering him with questions of his progress and idiotic remarks when he could do things perfectly well on his own; who Brad knew were never going to be as big as he himself could be.

Brad was the perfect child, yes, because he knew he still needed his parents. This was the second flaw. He did not expect attention from his parents would come with so many strings attached. He got more than he bargained for.

There was not much he could do except to spend more and more time in school, a private establishment designed for the rich youngsters like Brad with enough clubs and societies after school everyday to eat well into dinner time. For Brad, school was a delightful escape.

"Hey, my name's Glyn. You're Bradley Crawford, huh?"

"Just Brad's fine." Brad placed his fencing sword into the locker and closed the door before turning around to face a blonde-haired boy. At five foot seven, Glyn was a whole two inches taller than Brad was, even though they were both sixteen.

Glyn took a step back when Brad looked at him, as if he was stunned. "I'm recruiting people for the inter-school quiz challenge, so with instructions from and on behalf of the committee..." Glyn gave Brad a big smile. "I'm here to ask, beg, bribe, and threaten you if necessary, to represent the school in the next quiz."

Brad gestured for Glyn to walk with him to the cafeteria. "I thought there are plenty of people who want to - "

"We've lost the last five quizes already. _Five_. Proof that this school is full of rich idiots!" Glyn said the last comment in a whisper. "The committee told me you're our best shot."

"Me?" Brad asked, for the sake of carrying on the conversation. "Why would anyone say that?"

"You're _famous_ here!" Glyn said, stressing the word. "You know what they said to me when I said I didn't know who Bradley Crawford was? 'Jesus Glyn! Are you really from this school? He's the smartest and best looking guy around!' And they're right, it's easy to spot you too, the black hair and half Asian looks and all."

Glyn's words were true, but an understatement. Bradley Crawford was not merely famous, he was popular. He was sporty, clever, good-looking. He taught classmates how to do their homework, and did not mind letting other people copy his own work in dire emergencies. In front of the teachers, he was a good student. In front of his friends, he was someone who would cover for them if a teacher walked by during their lunch time smoke breaks. The girls loved him; the boys wanted to be him.

All because Brad put up this image for them. It was fun, this game.

"So the sweet-talking begins." Brad chuckled. He took a bar of mint chocolate and walked to the cashier. "You guys want me in the quiz that bad?"

"Wait, I'll pay for that. Actually, I'll claim it from the committee's funds." Glyn quickly paid, laughing. "As a token of our sincerity."

"You're bribing me with a bar of chocolate?" Brad lifted an eyebrow, and took the tray of lunch and his chocolate to an empty table.

"Come on, what do you say?"

"When is it?"

"First of March." Glyn replied, looking hopeful.

"I have a match in the beginning of March, but the date isn't fixed yet." Brad said, digging into his food at the same time. "I need to check."

"No no no, they'll throw me outta the committee if my mission fails!" Glyn's blue eyes widened, and he shook his head almost desperately. "What match is it? I'll murder your team captain if I must!"

Brad laughed at the dramatic reaction. He put his fork down, and stared at Glyn in the eyes for effect. "Fencing. And you'll be in deeper trouble if you do that, because _I'm_ the team captain."

"You do fencing? Wow."

"Just a little. You?"

"Just joined the boxing club. It's cool, you know?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about joining too." Brad looked up from his lunch with interest. He knew his parents would not like the idea. They liked graceful, stylish things, and boxing definitely did not fall into that category for them. But it would come in useful, one day...

Some people became evil because it was the only way to survive. Some became evil because of the people and society that surrounded them.

And then there were some who were just born that way.

[to be continued]


	3. Part 3

**Blinded**

Part Three

Crawford enjoys control. Unlike Schuldich, who can use mind control, Crawford manipulates in his own way by proving his absolute superiority to those of his rank, and absolute obedience to those he cannot yet win. He is a rounded person, with sharp corners hidden all over, promising blood and pain to anyone who gets in his way. Schuldich learned that since the first day Crawford recruited him into Schwarz. He can almost imagine how Crawford murdered his own parents already.

Crawford is also a man with a fierce sweet tooth, and has liked mint chocolate ever since he was little. He always has a bar of it somewhere on his work desk or in a coat pocket. He still likes cookies-and-cream ice-cream too, Schuldich has noticed this fact long before Crawford admitted to it in his story. When Schwarz lived together for the job in Japan, Nagi thought the constant supply of ice-cream belonged to Schuldich, and the German just let the boy think whatever he wanted. There were many things about Crawford only Schuldich were aware of, because he was the only one who bothered to notice these things.

The wine bottle beside the bed is empty. Schuldich stands, looking out the window, thinking about all that his former leader has told him, about the events that provoked the start of this long tale. Young Crawford was exactly how Schuldich imagined he would be, yet a complete stranger. There is something all this is leading to, something Crawford is trying to tell him, but only able to through the story of his life, and Schuldich knows he will not find out what it is until the very end.

The night is beginning to give way to brightness of day. It is going to be a grim day with grey sky, which Schuldich has learned is typical English weather. As the sky brightens and birds begin to sing, Schuldich notices this room faces seaward, overlooking the waterfront where his dead body laid.

Behind him, on the bed, Crawford begins to stir. Crawford never sleeps long, even with alcohol in his system. Six hours, seven at most is all the rest he takes every night. Schuldich studies the movement with anticipation. Watching Crawford sleep is not as entertaining as Schuldich imagined, because the man does not talk in his sleep or does anything strange - Crawford does not put up a mask. What Schuldich sees is what he is, so there is no "unmasking" to watch during his sleep. But what can he do in the long hours of Crawford's resting time? He had done enough travelling and sight seeing in the four years he spent searching for the American, and he just wants to stop now. He just wants to stay in this room for as long as Crawford permits him to.

What will happen in the future? Only Crawford will know. But staying here in Crawford's presence is the only thing that is holding Schuldich together now. Only three days ago he had walked into this room finding Crawford not able to see him. What will he do if Crawford does not want to see him anymore, or simply fails to recognise his existence? Crawford is the only one who recognises his presence, the only one to remind him of who he is. Schuldich knows that if he forgets who he himself is, the way he looks, his own manners of speech, he will just disappear and cease to exist. And with a mind reader, it is all too easy to lose oneself. Recognition from Crawford is the only thing he can hold on to.

He never was anybody before Crawford found him. If Crawford lets go, he goes back to being nobody and fades away. It probably does not matter. He will not want to stay around if Crawford lets go, anyway.

Schuldich thinks he understands Jamie's decision of staying in the car.

It is probably just a matter of time before Crawford lets go. Weeks? Months? Or maybe a couple of years if Schuldich is lucky. From what he knows, the American never holds onto something for long. He always knows when to move on.

//To Brad, I'm probably only as good as an illusion.//

//What are you, anyway?//

Schuldich almost jumps at the question, aware that he has projected his thoughts towards the American by accident. Crawford has already left the bed, and is now inside the bathroom to clean up. He did not change out of his clothes to sleep last night.

//... I don't know. A ghost I guess. Or maybe a blob of energy or just a brain wave?// Schuldich sits on the spot of the bed where Crawford just slept in, it should feel warm, and memories are reminding him what physical warmth felt like. //I don't see anything else like me floating around.//

The sound of shower escapes from the bathroom door. //Because you're a telepath?//

//Maybe.// Schuldich fingers the bed sheets. //Maybe all telepaths end up like me. Our minds just don't rest. I really don't know.//

//Perhaps all paranormals end up like you. We're all the same in essence, you know that.//

//Well I'll just have to wait for you to die and see, heh?//

Crawford replies with a snort.

* * *

Brad had control of his precognition by the time he was seventeen. Once he learned how to handle seeing both the future in his head and the present with his eyes at the same time, boxing became easy. Everything became easy.

He and Glyn ended up applying for the same university, for the same course. Life was as it was in high school. Brad Crawford was still popular, he still led the fencing team, still went to classes his parents made him go at the weekends.

The real thrill about university was women.

"New girl again?" Swinging his sports bag over a shoulder, Glyn glanced at the girl Brad kissed just before walking away with him. "Nice. What's her name?"

"Zoë."

Glyn laughed, obviously jealous and did not care that he was showing it. "We aren't here for a year yet, and she's like the fifth girl I see with you. I thought girls talk amongst themselves and have a blacklist."

"Fourth, actually." Brad smirked as he pushed open the doors to the sports hall. "They do talk. It's just about getting them to think what you want them to think."

"You're the only guy I've ever known who can pull this off." Glyn rolled his eyes. He was used to this kind of talk from Bradley Crawford. "Don't your parents say anything?"

"I don't bring them home." Brad smirked again, lifting an eyebrow with a certain look on his face. "I just go to their rooms."

"Neat. Just neat." They were inside the changing room, getting ready for training. "Hey, you've done the chem lab? Can I copy your results later? Got a party to go to on Saturday - hey, you come too, okay?"

"You know I can't." Brad had to go to the shooting course followed by music classes every Saturday.

"Shit, gods, I'm sorry." The blonde winced. "Your parents just don't let you go do they?"

"They'll have to, sooner or later."

Brad's eighteenth birthday was celebrated with style. The party was thrown in Glyn's home to avoid Brad's parents - Glyn was only too happy to organise the whole thing. There was plenty of food, alcohol, cake-throwing and dancing everywhere one turned.

"You know what, Brad, this could be the single biggest birthday party of the year - " Glyn turned, and noticed that Brad was no longer beside him. At six foot two, it was not difficult for him to look over heads of people to find Brad out in the garden talking with a Chinese girl with large black eyes and shiny, long black hair.

The girl Glyn wanted to ask out.

Glyn walked over quietly to listen to their conversation. All Cantonese. He almost forgot that Brad was fluent in the Asian tongue. The word "Glyn" appeared in the conversation twice, and the girl giggled each time it was mentioned. Glyn was not sure what to make of it, his friend would not make a move on a girl he wanted, right? Brad was not known for bad-mouthing his friends...

"You could be more subtle, Glyn."

Glyn almost yelped in surprise. Brad was standing beside him, nursing a glass of cocktail, and the girl was walking away, but turning back to smile at them. "What... what were you two talking about?"

"Why?" Brad waved at the girl, and she waved back.

"Because - " Glyn caught his tongue. He did not tell Brad that he wanted to ask her out.

A piece of paper appeared before his eyes, held between Brad's index and middle fingers. "Her number."

"What..." Glyn took the number and stared at it.

"No boyfriend. She thinks you're cute."

"Jesus, how did you know? How do you do that?" Glyn elbowed his friend, relieved and thankful.

"I see you at least five times a week, I need to be blind not to know." Brad smirked. "As for how I do it, it's trade secret."

The day after, Brad woke up with the worst hangover in his life.

"Morning." The hall smelled of incense. His mother was burning incense sticks for Jamie and Harriet like she did every morning. Brad wondered what it was all for. He understood a little about Chinese culture and religion, but there was no way he could believe that his dead siblings would hear her prayers or receive the gifts she burnt for them over the years. Perhaps it was all about the guilt factor.

Whatever. She would be joining Jamie and Harriet soon enough.

"You're a bit late today, Brad." Dad looked up from the financial pages of the newspaper. "Had fun last night?"

"I did." Brad sat down to have his breakfast hurriedly. He had to go to the shooting class in half an hour, and even though he now had his own car - birthday present from his father - driving there would still take exactly that amount of time. But skipping breakfast was never permitted in this house. He would be late, and he did not want to, because shooting courses were cool, and useful. Very useful.

He would be late unless he sped, of course, which he was going to, because Mum and Dad would never know. Dead people would never know.

"What time did you come home last night? Four? Really, kids these days." His mother joined him at the table. "It's your rifle exam today?"

Brad nodded, not ready to talk with his mouth full.

"Well then hurry up, you'll be late." His mother frowned. "You're going to get the concealed weapon certificate after that. You must keep learning."

"Yes, keep practising." His father joined in. "It's the only way to get better."

//I will, believe me.// Brad smiled to himself. Despite the pain in his head, he felt incredibly good, because _those people_ confirmed tonight would be the night.

"Oh, I almost forgot, there's this computing class I saw, maybe Brad should take it..." Mum was talking to Dad now. "I was going to take Brad to sign up today, but since he woke late..." 

They were doing it again. Talking about more courses to take. Planning his future. Complaining about the amount of time he spent at university. Making comments about his friends.

They were dragging it out as always, their topics always revolving around their child. Brad swallowed his food so quickly he almost choked, grabbed his bag and practically ran out of the house.

Those people were outside, waiting for him.

"I don't need a lift." Brad showed his new car key. "What is it?"

"The organisation wishes to send you their congratulations." Only one of them ever spoke, the mind reader with tanned, almost bronzed skin and sun bleached hair, as if he just came back from a beach holiday. He looked like he was only two or three years older than Brad.

"For my birthday, or for tonight?"

"The former." The man smiled, his manners business-like. "And the latter too if you pull it off well."

//I planned it, not you, remember. Don't underestimate me.//

"We don't. We value you highly. You have no idea how rare it is the organisation tracks the progress of their future recruits over such a long period of time."

"We'll see." Brad got into his new car and turned the key. "Excuse me, I'm going to be late." With that, he drove off, knowing that the man would visit him again very soon.

It had been years. Brad was not sure when it started, it could have been the year Jamie died or even before that, but he only noticed these people three years ago, and the talking did not begin until last year.

"We have something you want."

Power. Control. Thrill.

"And you have something we want."

Clairvoyance.

"Let's make a deal."

Argh. Messy. The jacket was ruined.

With that thought in mind, Brad stabbed the corpse several times more, making blood splatter on his cheeks as well.

Police arrived minutes after he made the phonecall. He put down the knife and held his hands in the air. His face was blank when they handcuffed him, and after arriving at the station, he did not speak until Mister Potts, a good friend of his father and the family lawyer, arrived.

Mister Potts was shocked by the blood on Brad. "My God, are you hurt?"

Brad shook his head, silent. Mister Potts held him tight in his arms. "Oh Brad, how can this happen to you?"

"I don't know..." //Because I foresaw it.//

"He wouldn't talk, Mister..." The officer eyed the business card the lawyer gave him. "... Potts. I hope you can help us. You see we aren't cuffing him now. We can pretty much guess what happened. It's unlikely we'll press any charges - unless Mister Crawford here refuses to talk and makes himself look like a criminal."

Brad looked up at his lawyer, his expression lost and confused.

"You two can have a minute to discuss things first if you want."

"No need. I know this kid well." Mister Potts put his hands on Brad's shoulders and squeezed hard. "Go on, Brad. Tell them what happened."

Brad bit his lips and took a deep breath. "After dinner, I rang Glyn - my friend Glyn Myers - to go out for a drink..."

"What time was that?"

"Around nine. I picked up my girlfriend..."

"Her name please?"

"Zoë O'Connor. We went to the cafe at the student union near my university and met another group of friends. We left at around twelve, and they wanted a ride in my car. It's a birthday present from Dad yesterday..."

Brad stopped and bowed his head. Behind him, Mister Potts gave his shoulders another squeeze, and he continued.

"I got home at around one. I heard Mum yelling and screaming upstairs, and Dad was shouting. Something like 'please don't hurt us'. I knew something was wrong, so I went to the kitchen and got a knife..."

"Is that the same one you were holding when we arrived?"

"... Yes. I ran up the stairs. On my way up I heard gun shots."

"How many?"

"Three... Four... I can't remember." Brad looked up at the officer, who gestured for him to continue. "When I got to my parents' bedroom, there was this stranger standing with his back to me, at the doorway. I looked past him and I..." Brad broke off again, his breathing becoming hectic. "Mum and Dad were on the floor with blood pooling out their chests."

"Sweet Jesus." Mister Potts drew a deep breath.

"I was right behind the man. I think he heard me. He turned around and saw me. He yelled something, and then I... I... "

"Mister Crawford, please continue." The officer looked at him sympathetically.

"I think I stabbed him."

"How many times?"

"I don't know."

"Initial post-mortem suggests there are over 7 stab wounds on the body. Were they all done by you?"

"I don't know."

"Was there anyone else in the house?"

"Not that I know of."

"Sir." Mister Potts interrupted, his voice full of sorrow and anger. "I wish to bring my client to seek medical attention right now."

"I'll have the medical arranged." The officer nodded. Multiple stab wounds in an act of self defense in a situation like this was not uncommon at all. "Mister Crawford, please read this transcript." He pushed his clipboard across the table. "And sign at the bottom if everything there is correct. And please make a list of the people you saw tonight, starting from nine o'clock, at the bottom. Give us their contact details if you have them."

Brad did so sliently. Behind him, Mister Potts told him there was nothing to worry about, that there was no chance they would arrest him, and the district attorney would close the case very soon.

"We'll take you to another room to wait." The officer opened the door for them. "In the meanwhile, we'll allow you to call your insurance company, if you have one."

Oh yes, Brad considered that a long time ago.

* * *

//Oscar-winning performance!// Schuldich laughs right out, clapping his hands as if he is enjoying a good movie. //Here I thought I'm the dramatic one! What happened next?//

"The DA gathered information about a young citizen who had a good family, good education and bright future, and decided to let him go. The insurnace company paid him three million." Crawford laughs softly, almost soundlessly. He did not lie to the officer or Mister Potts at all, and it was self defense. Only he knew beforehand it would happen.

//Jesus! That mind reader though. Neumann, right? Rosenkreuz had their eyes on you since you were twelve?//

"I guess."

Schuldich curses under his breath. Everyone who knows him knows how much he hates that place. And anyone who really knows him came from that place. Rosenkreuz sure helped him understand and make full use of his abilities, but the price to pay was too high.

//I'm going to have lunch.// Crawford picks up his coat from where it is on the chair and puts it on. Schuldich smiles at the sight. Chocolate brown ribbed turtle-neck, black pants, definitely designer shoes and a medium-length, grey wool coat. As usual, what Crawford is wearing matches so well it is as if it has been picked out by a personal shopper.

//Ah. Okay.// Schuldich lifts an arm and waves once, not turning to look at the American from where he is standing at the window.

Crawford stops. //You aren't coming?//

//Eh? Sure, if you want me to.//

//Not if you don't want to.// Crawford arches an eyebrow.

Lunch? Strange suggestion, that, considering Schuldich cannot eat anymore. The fact that Crawford suggested Schuldich may not want to go, too. Both strange. //You seem to not have grasp the concept that I'll always cling to you like goo, unless you wash me off.//

//Then why weren't you clinging just now?//

//I didn't know you find eating lunch with a dead guy a good pass time.//

They go to a coffee and sandwich shop, one of those the British seems to be so fascinated about these days. Lunch for Crawford consists of chicken and roasted peppers panini, chocolate muffin and tea.

//Oh look, that's where I was. With pieces missing.// Schuldich points. Through the glass wall, he can see the waterfront again. //Think about it. If Nags was there to give me the kiss of life...// A snicker. //I'll hop around on one leg and yell at him 'You shithead! Find me my arm and leg before you do that you bloody idiot!'. I'll try to kick him and fall over!//

Crawford looks out, too, though he does not find Schuldich's joke funny. //How can you make jokes about that?//

Schuldich glances back at Crawford, smiling gently, then looks out again without a reply. He is dead, he deals with it. He does not know this type of existence is good for him now, but he will do his best to hold on to it. He is doing his best not to recall the pain of death, not to think he is alone in his type of existence. Schuldich reminds himself again the American before him is the only one who shed tears for him, and he will not let go... that easily.

Crawford takes off his glasses before drinking the tea to avoid steaming. He is long-sighted, but not enough to necessitate glasses. Without them, he looks much younger than he actually is, too young for anyone to trust him as the leader of an SS-branch. Nagi and Farfarello did not know this.

//You should trash those.// Schuldich makes a face. Crawford does look good with the glasses, but to Schuldich, they are a bit pretentious, and that is _his_ speciality, not Crawford's.

//Why? You never took my advice about the bandanna.//

//I haven't worn that for four years already! You still remember?//

//I remember lots of things.// There is a hint of a smirk in that statement, but Crawford's face is kept expressionless, as he is supposedly eating lunch alone.

//I have a feeling I don't want to hear this.// Schuldich makes a face at the American. //You're thinking about my screw-ups aren't you?//

//I didn't say anything.// There is definitely cold laughter in that voice.

Schuldich hisses, although playfully. //One day, I'm going to screw your mind so bad you won't remember a damn thing.//

//If you don't want to hear the rest of it, then try me.//

[to be continued]

_Author's note: I was going to put it in the credits at the very end of the fic, but I think I should write it here as well. Loads of people helped me with this fic:_

Kagaya, who helped me with the ideas and my English, tied up the plot holes, and tolerated my endless stream of "but what if" questions. Without her, this fic would not exist. (And she owes me a sequel to "Red Sea", heh)

Blaze, who likes anime but has no interest in fanfiction whatsoever but put up with my fangirl syndromes and actually listened to me discussing the plot of this fic whilst washing dishes. I guess he didn't have much choice *grin* The way he asked "is he gay?" when I talked about Schu really made my day. *snickers*

The folks at WKML, who helped me with translations, US court procedures, gun ownership and stuff. I ended up not using most of the info though. Argh >_ 

To all the people above, thank you!


	4. Part 4

**Blinded**

Part Four

//Jamie.// Brad caught himself talking to his brother in his head as they placed the four pots of ashes into their places. Before him stood a wall, divided into many small squares, each no larger than the size of a notebook. Each square was actually a little door to a small compartment within the wall, where a pot of ash was placed. On each door, there was a black and white photograph of the deceased, with the name and dates written underneath. There were hundered of such compartments in this wall. The four Crawfords were next to each other in a row, surrounded by hundreds of Chinese and other people who followed this custom.

//Jamie. I shouldn't have kept them to myself so long. Now I'm returning them to you.//

The cremation was done according to Mr. Potts' suggestion that since Jamie and Harriet were cremated, he should do the same to his parents too. Brad himself did not care if it was a burial or cremation or dumping the bodies into the sea because those were only dead bodies. He only followed through the funeral because it had to be done, and he would rather put the ashes here than at home.

They were all worried. The family friends, his own friends, the doctor, even the police officer who he had befriended were worried about him being so emotionless through the whole event. Not a single tear or a word of anguish came from Brad.

"Hey man, I don't know what I can do, but let me know if you need any help, yeah?"

"Don't worry about me, Glyn." Brad whispered, playing his part of the berieved. "I never loved them, to be honest. I'm just not used to being on my own."

With all the freedom, with people who saw what he really was worth, and ready to offer something in exchange. It was going be a big change.

Glyn patted Brad on the shoulder. "I know, superman. Just let me say that and sound like I'm a good friend, okay?"

"You've let me stay at your place for the week, that's enough help already." Brad finally looked at his friend for the first time since the funeral began. "But if you really want to, you can help me clean up."

"Clean up?" Glyn cocked his head.

"You think the cops will mop the floor for me?" Brad smiled a little at Glyn's face, which had gone several shades paler than usual. "I think it's all dried. I'll get someone to dig out the floorboards."

In the end, Brad had the master bedroom redecorated, gave everything that was not his to the local charity - to maintain his good image - and sold the house, moving into a smaller, but much more modern apartment.

Very few people got to look at his home. It was his own haven, and anything that was less than beautiful - people included - could not get in, to an extent that some of the furniture was imported overseas, and some Brad himself commissioned to be made. His bedroom, in particular, was a sanctuary. That meant nobody ever stepped on the hardwood floor of the room or touched his bedsheets.

It was difficult to find beautiful women. Pretty ones were everywhere, they preened themselves, swung out their feathers for him like peacocks, but they never were good enough. There were guys too, a few from university who plucked up enough courage to approach him, but Brad never gave them a thought, perhaps simply because he thought they were not beautiful enough to deserve him.

Glyn hung out in Brad's home a lot. He copied Brad's work for university, rented videos to watch at weekends, talked about women, cars, and did everything else people of their age did. Brad knew that Glyn practically worshipped him. He also knew Glyn harboured some mixed feelings for him, since before they went to university. He did not mind that, what Glyn wanted to feel was his choice. In fact, he rather enjoyed this dangerous equilibrium. To Brad, seeing Glyn make excuses to himself to hang out together; helping him to get the girl that had the same hair and skin colour as Brad himself did; and sometimes seeing Glyn catches himself staring at him was as thrilling as one felt when a rollercoaster was about to start.

Whether Brad would enjoy the ride was a completely different matter, and Brad had no intention of riding at all.

Brad did feel sorry for Glyn though, because as soon as university was over, he disappeared on him without a word of goodbye and went straight to the Bavarian Alps, where the headquaters of Rosenkreuz were located. Neumann and the other agents did go easy on him through the years, but it was inevitable that Brad would fall into their hands, because they were too powerful to fight. It might be as well that Brad went to them willingly to save himself some personal injuries. Knowing when to fight and when to retreat had always been one of his strong points.

He did send the key to his home to Glyn though, if that was any consolation to the blonde. He could finally see the bedroom if he wanted to, the bedroom of Brad, someone who no longer existed.

From the point he entered Rosenkreuz, Brad was no more. He became Crawford.

* * *

Crawford looks at Schuldich suspiciously when a waitress walks over and puts more tea on the table. Schuldich just grins back, gesturing for his companion to enjoy his tea.

//Hey, about Glyn... He's the guy I saw in...?//

//Same person.//

//Thought so.//

Momentary silence falls as Crawford drinks his tea.

//You were... twenty-one, right?// Schuldich drums his fingers on the table. //With a loaded bank account and university education. Che.//

//They were lighter on me than on you in some ways, but you know that's not why.// Crawford tastes the tea. Not the same as the one earlier. What Schuldich "ordered" is fruit tea. Tastes rather nice.

Schuldich just snorts as if he does not care.

//I'm good at getting myself out of trouble, but you love getting into it.// The American muses. //And they're harder on you because your power's more valuable. It can do more than mine, you know it.//

//Oh dear leader, I never thought I'd live to hear you say that.// The redhead laughs. //Oh wait, I'm dead.//

Crawford bites his lips to suppress a smile.

//Anything interesting that happened to you in Rosenkreuz?//

//Define 'interesting'.//

//Tell me something about Rosenkreuz that I don't already know.//

* * *

All different "branches" of powers come down to the same thing. Like at a crossroads, one can get to the centre from all different paths. And the closer one gets to the centre, the closer one is to the other paths too.

Precognition, telekinesis, telepathy, psychometry, empathy, even more subtle powers of instinct and deja vu, all of these eventually converge to one super power. Most paranormals can exhibit a small degree of telepathy, by projecting their thoughts directly to a telepath. Strong telepaths are always capable of empathy. Empaths can become telepaths. Given time and training, powers can grow and paranormals will obtain more abilities.

No one fully understand the nature of telekinesis and teleportation, not even those with the power themselves. Is it the melting and reforming of matter, or the summoning of spirits to move matter? Does teleportation involves time travel? Rosenkreuz was deeply involved in the research of finding the answers and exploiting the power.

Precognition is more than a gift of sight. It is the tracing of decisions of people before they are aware of them, putting a finger on the trail until the precognitive finds the result of those decisions. It is a battle of will-power. As long as the precognitive is stronger in will, he can trace the decisions that lead to the result. Like instinct, the process may not be a concious one, but a good precognitive always knows how to use the future to his advantage. The challenge to the precognitive comes when he meets someone who has a stronger will than himself, someone who can break the "chain of command".

That was the first thing Crawford learned in Rosenkreuz. The second was that Neumann was his first challenge as a precognitive.

Each paranormal was given a tailored training package. For Crawford, life was not as bad as the others experienced in the organisation, mostly because he already possessed many properties that Rosenkreuz wanted all their agents to develop: disrespect to human life, strong physique, good emotional control and the grace of a killer.

Those agents who were not as strong as Crawford were less lucky. And those who disobeyed were given a chance to reflect in cells, or in metal boxes no larger than the size of coffins.

Neumann was responsible for Crawford's progress. He was the "talent scout" who spotted the American in the first place, and the one who bought time for him, so to speak, so that Crawford only entered Rosenkreuz at twenty-one. Rosenkreuz had their hands on most other agenst before they were ten. Despite that, Crawford could develop no other feelings for Neumann except a deep distaste, because even though Neumann was a truely beautiful man - and Crawford was ready to admit to that - he was irritating.

If that was a trait found in every mind reader, Crawford was not sure.

His days consisted of power training, physical training, language classes, backing up the SS on the field, blood tests, cells sampling and avoiding Neumann, which was unsuccessful most of the time despite being aided by precognition. Neumann's training class always pushed his mind to the extremes, leaving him almost paralysed for at least a day afterwards.

"You'll thank me later." It was what Neumann always said afterwards, when Crawford finally collapsed with a terrible migraine, colours and sounds filling his head as if he was inside a giant bell which had just been struck. Neumann would then carry Crawford to the infirmary, letting him rest for several days before more mind training.

"You'll thank me later." Neumann said again, leaving Crawford to the doctors' care. "You will."

"I don't see that happening in the future." Crawford groaned, his eyes staying closed to shut out the light. It hurt too much.

Neumann gave that soft laughter of his that was full of joy and without wickedness. "You're right. I'm not the precog. But I know you will."

Crawford just told him to get out, which drew gasps from the doctors and nurses. Neumann laughed more and went away.

"Neumann has high hopes for you." One of the doctors, an old man with silver-white hair, told him later. Crawford eyed him, gesturing for him to continue. "For almost ten years he had been talking about the child he found in America. He was very excited about you. He still is now."

Crawford just looked at the doctor expressionlessly. In his memory, during his brief encounters with Neumann over the years, the man had always maintained a business-like attitude. "Ten years? Isn't he about my age?"

"I believe he's twenty-four. He does look younger than that, though."

Crawford quickly did a mental calculation. Ten years ago, he was eleven. Neumann was fourteen. He had been recruiting for Rosenkreuz at fourteen years-old.

The doctor did not need telepathy to know what Crawford was thinking. "Neumann's one of the most influencial figures here now. I believe he was here since the age of five. We called him by his first name then."

Was Crawford supposed to be honoured?

"... What's Neumann's first name?"

//My name's Niklas.// Warm laughter ran in his mind, and Crawford noticed Neumann had been eavesdropping on him. //I'd allow you to call me that, _Bradley_.//

//Get out.// Crawford spat, slamming his mental barriers down. He knew it was not much use against the powerful telepath, especially he was only beginning to learn how to shut others out of his head.

//Ouch!// Neumann cried out, as if in pain. //Fine, I'll leave you alone for a few days.//

The doctor seemed to have noticed the shift of attention in his young patient, and knew what was going on. When Crawford finally let out a sigh, he handed him some painkillers. "I'm not saying this now because we can be heard, but you truly are a lucky one."

"How so?"

"Just ask around. There is no agent in Rosenkreuz who doesn't want Neumann to be their supervisor." The doctor looked at Crawford incredulously, his expression one of don't-tell-me-you-don't-know-this. "You're now guaranteed well treatment and good training."

"Good training." Crawford repeated, his mind drifting back to the training session that just had him sent to the infirmary.

"Believe him when he said you'll thank him. You have no idea what state the agents are in when they come back after being attacked by a telepath." The doctor said in disgust. "The mind training Neumann gives almost guarantee immunity to other telepaths, because by far he is the strongest we know of. Although I did hear that they've found another one who has great potential."

It was Schuldich.

* * *

//Lucky you.// Schuldich pouts, his voice childlike. Even he likes Neumann. How Crawford could find Neumann annoying at first is beyond him. //No wonder you lived through Rosenkreuz that easily. Ah, I miss Niklas.//

//He did seem to have a particular attachment to us. Nagi also, during his brief time in Rosenkreuz.// Crawford says. Neumann never let anyone else call him by his given name. Having Neumann on his side when he worked on putting Schwarz together made life much easier too.

Schuldich puts his elbow on the arm of the couch, his palm supporting his chin. He knows why. Neumann and him felt, and he still feels, the same thing towards the American. It is the charisma. It is like a lighthouse to the telepaths. A bright light that gives them directions when they are lost in their own power.

Niklas Neumann. The same man found Schuldich too, in their home country. He was sixteen. Neumann was twenty-four. The older man swept him in his arms right away and helped him control his powers, but shifts in divisions and groups meant Schuldich ended up with another group months later. From then on, Rosenkreuz had been hell.

Neumann mentioned to him about an American once, about how he thought the two of them would work together and balance each other out in a way Neumann himself could not for the American. Neumann even once confessed that his love for that American was so great he could not bear to be near him. He was a very tragic, romantic man who knew where his place was with Crawford and did not dare to step out of line.

_"Precognition is about will-power. They can only foresee the result and act accordingly. Telepaths can bend minds and manipulate the process that leads to the results. Ours is a stronger gift, Schu. It's more advanced. But precognitives have better control and can do more. That's why we can never bend the minds of precognitives. That's why I think you'll work with him well. You will balance each other out."_

"And you?"

"I know my place."

Schuldich glances at Crawford out of the corners of his eyes, smiling a little mischievously. He bets Crawford never knew.

//Niklas treated Nagi and I well because we'd be of use to you.// The German murmured. //I think he was close to developing clairvoyance, but he knew that only because he knew you.//

Crawford takes a moment to digest the words.

//Come on, you like Niklas more than you let on. And I say it now because you can't kill me!// Schuldich pulls a face at him.

//He gave me your name and told me to look for you when I need a telepath. But that wasn't until a year afer I left Rosenkreuz. He vanished since then.//

* * *

Crawford left Rosenkreuz, the training ground of SS, two years later as a full fledged SS agent working mainly in Asia with Neumann and Silvia Lin, a Chinese telekinetic. They acted as contacts between SS and the traders of drugs in Hong Kong and chemical weapons in mainland China, occasionally terminating entire groups of triads, which could have a headcount of over five hundred, if necessary. It was control through absolute fear. They were a legend of terror to the traders.

"I hate this job." Neumann said once, entering Crawford's room in the hotel suite. He caught himself, recalling that the American did not like anyone stepping into where he slept. "Ah. Is it okay?"

"Come in." Crawford was at the desk, typing up a report for the SS. "What about the job?"

"It's more about the life. I don't like hotels." Neumann found a place at the windowsill to sit. The darkness of the room made his tanned skin seem even darker, and his eyes shone. "On my last job I at least had a proper house."

"You shouldn't be on this job in the first place." Crawford replied, shutting his computer. "At a rank like yours, you could be at the headquarters moving agents around like chess pieces."

Neumann chuckled, a hand went up to run through his short, curly sun bleached hair. "I have my reasons."

"What reasons, Nik?"

"Top secret. But I think I'll need to transfer soon." The light in his eyes flickered. "When you need another telepath, look for a kid called Schuldich in the Hamburg branch. Remember this."

Neumann transferred a week after the conversation. Crawford had not seen him since then.

* * *

//Niklas didn't transfer. He was forced to go back to the HQ.//

//Why?// This is news to Crawford, even though it happened many years ago.

//Nobody's supposed to know this, but he told me.// Schuldich sighs. //The geriatrics didn't like him being so attached to you. They usually wouldn't give a flying fuck, but Neumann had a high ranking, they couldn't allow him to do field work like that. So they threatened him and made him go back.//

Crawford is surprised. A rare thing to happen to a precognitive. //They threatened to...//

//Terminate you.// Chin still in his palm, Schuldich looks away from Crawford again, to stare at the outside. He has spilled Neumann's secret. Hopefully he will not be mad at him for that. //So now you know.//

Several minutes passes without any words being exchanged. Schuldich wonders what Crawford is thinking. Perhaps what he would have done, if anything, if he knew all this at the time.

//Let's go.// Suddenly, Crawford seems to have reached a conclusion of some kind. Most likely that there is no use thinking about it now.

//Ah. Okay.// The German follows Crawford out. //So... there was just you and Silvia left? That's when you went to Switzerland.// He grins knowingly.

//For a weekend, after a job that almost screwed up because that woman wouldn't listen to my visions.//

//Typical. Let's move on, I don't want to hear about that bitch.//

//I requested to have another job where I don't have to work with someone who wouldn't work with me.//

//And they gave you Schwarz.//

//Yes.//

[to be continued]

_Author's note: I'm getting to the Scwharz part, finally! A lot more had happened between Crawford and Jamie, Glyn and Neumann (the poor man only got 1/2 a chapter's worth), of course, but they aren't characters anybody's familiar with, and if I write them all out, you might be bored to death already. If you like these Mary Sue's, there will be a few side stories for them, hopefully. As for now, we move on to those we're all familiar with, starting with Schuldich!_


	5. Part 5

**Blinded**

Part Five

//I want to take a break before moving on.//

//Sure thing.//

They have wandered to the port, Schuldich all the time wondering if Crawford has planned to come here or if it is an unconscious move. About fifty meters away, there is a small gathering of people, a mixture of officials and desperate relatives of the victims of the air bombing, still hoping to at least find the bodies of their loved ones. Schuldich knows his body is gone, either in the morgue or already on its way to Berlin.

Crawford finds a flowerbed and sits on its concrete edge, just several feet away from the water. Schuldich decides to stand on the flowerbed, next to the American.

//It's windy.// Schuldich observes Crawford's hair being lifted and dropped, the collar of his coat flapping about. //Are you cold?//

The American eyes Schuldich once. "Not really."

//I can't remember what cold feels like. It's scary.// Schuldich is not even moving his lips to imitate real speech. //It should be cold. I should feel my hair being blown into my eyes and my mouth. I might even feel tiny drops of water on my face. The air should taste salty. But I can't even remember what "salty" is like.// He cannot even recall the pain of fire on his skin, the agony that he went through when his limbs were torn away at the moment of the blast.

What is going to happen, when he loses all memories of what it felt like to be alive? Will he forget who he is, too?

He laughs to himself. He should not be brooding over these things. He has always lived for the moment, and being dead should not change things. Brooding and angst just do not fit his image. //Then again, I can always find someone to tap into if I want to feel those things again. Is this what they call being possessed by a ghost, you think?//

Crawford glances at Schuldich again, an unbelieving expression on his face. Telepaths. Is it a trait in telepaths that they cannot stop reading minds even if they know it damages their own sanity? Over the years that they had worked together, Crawford had watched Schuldich drink up the minds of other people -- _"minds taste like honey, Crawford"_ -- and at the same time struggling to keep his own identity alive. In SS, more than a handful of telepaths he knew had brought destruction upon themselves doing mind reading. They became confused about who they really are, and tried to put bits and pieces of other people's minds together to form who they thought they were. But pieces from different puzzles can never fit together. These telepaths all ended up taking their own lives.

It was a weakness that all telepaths try to hide, and Rosenkreuz tried to cover up. They invented all sorts of stablising drugs for the telepaths, but they refused to admit the problem in case it was used against them by their enemies. Schuldich hid it well. It took Crawford three years to notice the problem and adjust their team operations accordingly. Until today, Crawford still has problems seeing why it took him so long to notice. So far, the only explaination he came up with was that Schuldich was a good actor.

//Fine, be cool and ignore me.// The German jumps off the flowerbed and strolls towards the water.

"I'm thinking what to tell you next." Crawford finally confesses. "I can't see the consequences if I tell you all of it. I can't get a vision of it."

//Because I'm not "real"?// Schuldich turns on his heels and walks back to his companion. He did not even have problems telling how he destroyed his own family. What can it be that Crawford is hestitating about?

Thinking back, Schuldich has only seen Crawford being truly hestitant twice in all these years. This is the second time. The first time had been eight years ago. Schwarz did not exist then, it was just the two of them working together. He was twenty years-old, Crawford was twenty-five. They made a disastrous but efficient team - Schuldich could not even speak proper English then.

Schuldich snickers at the memory of communicating with Crawford using his broken English. Crawford had mastered German, but he forced the telepath to learn and use English all the time. German was forbidden, and telepathy was only allowed if it was necessary for a job. More than once Schuldich had got so frustrated he refused to speak at all.

He asks if the American can remember those times.

"You used to say 'fuck you, Krawford, I kan't do Englisch' at least once a day."

//Well at least I got the "fuck you" part right!// They laugh together, a pair of old friends sharing an old joke. Schuldich finally settles himself beside Crawford, on the edge of the flowerbed. //I know you didn't appreciate being called Krawford though.//

"You got it in a couple of months. I knew you would."

//Vision, huh?//

Crawford nods, his eyes staring off into the distance. "Saw it the day I picked you up in Hamburg."

//You relied on a vision of something that would happen in a couple of months' time? It was almost ten years ago and I'm sure your powers didn't reach that far.//

_Almost ten years ago. Schuldich was in his cell for the ninth day for disobedience. At least it was not one of those metal coffins. He sat in a corner of the room, legs stretched out in front of him and his head rolled back, waiting for the American Neumann had talked about. He had waited for two years already. In his cell, during training, during blood tests, he waited for that man._

//Somebody's visiting, Schu.// The "inmate" in a cell nearest to the exit spoke to him.

//I heard the door.//

//He looks important. Who's he?//

Schuldich narrowed his eyes and tried to read the mind of the visitor. //Blocked. Worse than a lead shield, can't see a damn thing.//

//Che.//

Then the footsteps stopped, outside Schuldich's door. The shield of the visitor came down, the move obviously deliberate, in an attempt to gain Schuldich's trust. Two men began to speak.

"I can make use of him." //And I don't want him locked up.// It was the stranger. He spoke German, although it was clear that it was not his native tongue. His voice was so calm, so smooth, so... pure, like aged wine.

//Neumann told me already.// "How can you make sure he doesn't get away?" Schuldich's supervisor. He asked the routine questions, knowing that he had to hand Schuldich over in any case. //Take him. I don't care.//

"I can tell the future, sir." //Idiot.//

A shiver ran through Schuldich's thin body. The precognitive. It has to be that American. Excitment that resulted from two years' of anticipation paralysed him. He sat, unable to move, and listened to the rest of the conversation, if it could be called one.

"Oh, of course. Go ahead then, if he's more useful that way."

The special lock on his door that was too strong even for telekinetics to break was opened. The door swung open smoothly, without the sound of rusted hinges that Schuldich imagined, and light came flooding in. The American stood in the doorway, his back to the light. Schuldich narrowed his eyes instinctively, yet he still could not see anything. He had lived in darkness for too long, the light blinded him.

The American's long shadow stretched across the room and touched the German's face.

//My name's Brad Crawford. Come with me.//

"You're right, I couldn't see that far without the chance of being completely wrong." Crawford's reply brings Schuldich back to the present.

//So why didn't you wait for me to finish my training first?//

Crawford bites his lips, letting out a heavy breath that is almost like a sigh.

//... It's one of the things you don't want me to know. That's why you don't want to continue the story.//

"Yes. And no." Crawford wants to continue, but he normally does not take risks, and risks are when he cannot see the possible results of his actions. Right now, he cannot foresee anything.

But if he stops now, the whole point of telling the story is lost. What he really wants to tell is the part he is hesitant about.

Not too far away is the spot where Schuldich's body laid. He looks there, remembering the body that was burnt, with limbs missing.

He turns his gaze back at Schuldich, a decision made.

"I'll tell you the rest of it. All of it."

[to be continued]

_Author's note: I forgot to mention something. Crawford here is around... 33, Schuldich about 28, so it's 6 years since the anime events. Crawford should look a little older here than he appeared in the manga and anime - but still too young for his age! Schu I guess looks the same. He looks like the type that never grows old. They've changed a bit since Schwarz, of course, because they no longer killed to live. Crawford is a "retired assassin", so to speak. I hope he sounds like one in this fic._


	6. Part 6

**Blinded**

Part Six

One year working as an SS agent had been enough.

There was thrill. There was power. There was control. Crawford determined when someone would die because he was the one who pulled the trigger, but it was the SS who decided who should die. All along, Crawford had been a piece on SS' chess board. Despite being given greater and greater power during his short first year as an agent - undoubtedly because Neumann was pulling strings - Crawford still was not the one to call the moves, and he knew he never will be.

He wanted back the control he had over his life. He did not want to be a pawn. Not even a king. He wanted to be the one playing the chess. He wanted _out_.

Nobody knew he had such thoughts, because the strongest telepath had given him the best mind training -- _You'll thank me later, Brad_ -- and no one could read from him if he did not allow it. Since given the order to find himself a new partner to work with, Crawford began to draft plans that would give him his escape.

Working with Neumann for the past year had taught him one important thing: precognition alone could only achieve so much. He had to form a team that worked the way he and Neumann did together. He needed a telepath.

Crawford arrived at the Hamburg branch of SS with one purpose: to find that Schuldich that Neumann told him about. They were expecting him, and let him in as soon as he showed identification. The boy at the door showed him to the records room and let him stay there for as along as he needed to pick out a teammate. Crawford wasted no time and pulled out Schuldich's inch-thick file from a metal cabinet straight away.

He drew a deep breath the moment he opened the file.

Some forty pages of paper were filled with Schuldich's statistics and background. Everything from height and weight to school grades to family background, even down to the size of his ring finger was recorded. Blood tests results. Discipline records. Training exercises that were completed. A thick pile of photographs at the back.

But it was the palm-sized photograph, attached to the front page by a paperclip, that caught Crawford's complete attention.

Platinum blonde hair that was almost white framed a face so perfect it could have been sculpted. The strong jawline, a mark of masculinity, was softened by perfect, pale skin and high cheekbones. The face was lifted slightly, as if to deliberately show off his neck. Aqua blue eyes - or were they green? - looked down at the camera, as if amused. The hair was just long enough to touch the collarbones, and unruly bangs fell as if to hide those wild eyes. A lop-sided, uncaring smile completed the picture.

Crawford's fingertips trembled when he touched that photograph. This was beauty. He was staring at beauty in the eye. And he could _own_ this creature.

He sat down and took his time to read through the information and study all the photographs at the back of the file that were taken before Schuldich entered Rosenkreuz. Apparently Neumann and the woman from the Elders - _Sanroujin_ (1) - had their eyes on Schuldich for longer than anyone thought. They waited for the right moment to snatch the boy up from parents who no longer wanted him, and gave him the usual choice - Rosenkreuz or death. The boy accepted the offer without a fight, but had proved himself to be harder to control than most other trainee agents. He absorbed what Rosenkreuz had to teach him like a sponge, but was always too keen to be doing something real, jumping at chances to back up full SS agents on the field or to join in interrogations. Schuldich was good at his job, but also good at creating troubles, the worst offense committed being an invasion of their own agent's mind, leading to almost irreversible damages. That time, Neumann had to step in to prevent Schuldich's certain death.

The German had also had several hunger strikes after using telepathy, one of which lasted so long Rosenkreuz had to hospitalise him. He seemed to have suffered "telepathy backlash", as they called it, which was for a telepath to lose control of his powers after a prolonged mind-reading session. If starving himself did any good in easing this effect, no one had any idea since telepaths were rare and Rosenkreuz had few people who could help him. It was Neumann, again, who came to the rescue.

So Neumann was handing to Crawford his favourite beast. Crawford smiled at the idea.

An hour later, Crawford stood outside Schuldich's cell, hardly able to keep his composure as the supervisor opened the lock.

When the heavy door that could keep even the strongest telekinetic out of trouble was finally opened, he stood in the doorway and all he could do was stare in awe.

The ninteen year-old sat at the corner of his prison, head tilted back, dirty hair slightly longer than it was in the photograph falling over his face. Those eyes were green in this light. They turned, from gazing at the ceiling to gazing at the new visitor.

Something pierced through Crawford that moment and he had to take a step back. For a moment, what sat there was not a boy but an animal that existed to destory and take revenge on the world that had abandoned him. Underneath all that, there was a longing, although to what, Crawford could not guess.

//My name's Brad Crawford. Come with me.//

Those were the only words he could manage. He expected questions from the boy, and maybe resistance too, but not a word was asked. The boy got up, legs obvisouly weak from sitting for too long on the cold floor, and went to pack his small amount of belongings, leaving behind all that he could not care less about.

//I suppose I don't need to bring much?// Telepathy easily crossed their language barrier.

//Only what you think you can't live without.// Crawford answered, noting the almost empty canvas bag that Schuldich was holding.

//Well then.// Schuldich shrugged, and dropped the bag onto the floor. He needed nothing. //Let's go.//

"Der Job (The job)?" It was the first thing Schuldich asked, when they arrived in the house SS provided them in Hamburg.

"Not yet, we're on standby." Crawford pulled out a black credit card from his wallet, handing it to the German. "You know your way around the city? Go get yourself whatever you need, though I must warn you we aren't staying in Germany for long." He had over a million dollars in that account. The German had to be buying houses to spend it all.

For the first time since they left the camp, the German smiled. The shoulders relaxed and the face brightened as corners of his lips turned upwards gently. "Also kann ich kein Auto kaufen (So I can't buy a car)?"

"We're only staying for three days, so no." Crawford stared. That smile almost took the breath out of him. "And from now on, speak only English. No telepathy unless I say so."

The German nodded and left with the credit card. When he came back a few hours later, his hair had been trimmed, he wore new, clean clothes, and smiling, he set down a plastic bag on the coffee table.

When the door to Schuldich's room closed, Crawford sank himself into the couch. There was mint chocolate in the bag Schuldich brought in - well, somebody was quick at picking up details. Did he see the chocolate in the car and in the kitchen, or did he just read his mind without him realising?

Casting that though aside, Crawford took some of that chocolate, closing his eyes to recall that smile that almost melted him on the spot, the same way the chocolate melted in his mouth.

Schuldich was beauty personified. Now that Crawford had him in his hands, what should he be doing next?

* * *

The silence stretches from seconds into minutes. Crawford shifts once, uncomfortably, pulling his coat together. Schuldich is not saying anything. His face is unreadable, and he is not even making a sound. Whatever he is feeling about all that Crawford has just revealed, he is not showing it.

At last, perhaps five minutes later, the German's grin is back in place. //You know what I'd do, if I see something I like badly?// He pauses until Crawford looks at him. //Own it. Fuck it senseless.//

"Mentally or physically?"

//Depends on what it is. If it's a person, then both.//

"You're suggesting that I should have done that to you?"

//Nah. I know you wouldn't.// Schuldich waves a hand dismissively. He knows such a thought could never have crossed Crawford's mind. //And I know you think otherwise, but I've never done it with guys.//

Crawford blinks once, then shakes his head. Schuldich always knows more than he would like him to. "So what are you trying to say, really?"

Schuldich does not reply. He looks to their left, where a hired worker is approaching their location with a pair of long clamps to pick up litter left behind by passerbys. He wears a thick jacket and a scarf that threatens to be blown away by the ripping wind. The man curses the cold weather.

It must be very cold today. They should not be sitting out here. //Let's go back.// Schuldich stands, hands unconsciously going to straighten his clothes that do not exist. He can still pretend.

//You haven't answered my question, Schuldich.// Crawford follows the German.

//Something crossed my mind that day, when we were in that house. I was thinking that I wouldn't mind if you do it. How'd ya say it? I wished I was gay. Fucking weird. I thought a guy either is or isn't, but apparently not.// Schuldich finally gives up his secret. It was nine years ago anyway, and he is dead. Secrets no long bother him. //I was quite upset when I discovered that we are both straight and it's never gonna happen.// He adds, laughing.

Crawford is not sure what to say to that. They walk the rest of the way back to the hotel.

//Calm down. It just crossed my mind. Never stayed there.// The German, sitting on the carpeted floor, cocks his head to a side and points at it with his index finger, grinning. He can guess that Glyn felt exactly the same thing the first time he set eyes on Crawford. And this man, for everything that he is and can do, has no idea what his mere presence can do to people.

Crawford smirks in return, almost relieved. He settles in the bed again. He likes the feeling that he is finally spilling it all out. The German must have realised his thing for blondes - Glyn, Neumann and Schuldich all had blonde hair. He must have now realised a lot of other things. The fact that Crawford could not let Schuldich complete his Rosenkreuz training because he had to own that beauty right there. The fact that he actually thought the German was beautiful. The fact that his heart beated faster - and sometimes it still does - when he looked at him. But there is one more thing - 

//By the way, do I look like Jamie? The way I smile.// From the floor, Schuldich looks up at the American with large, innocent eyes that hide a sadness he feels as he asks the question.

Crawford does not lie. He bites his lips and nods.

Schuldich accepts that answer in silence. So that is why. He has been under Jamie's shadow all these years. It does not matter. As long as Crawford wants it that way, it does not matter to Schuldich. But putting it the other way around, every time he smiled to get out of whatever mess he was in with Crawford, he was using Crawford's weakness against him. The poor man.

And to think Brad Crawford, fearless leader and mercenary extraordinaire, has such a weakness, too.

//So I wasn't the only M-type in the group. You let me torture you like that.// Schuldich murmurs. //You could've told me.//

"You'd have thrown away your smile for me. I know." Comes a whispered reply. "Because of exactly that, I didn't want you to know. You've given up enough for me already, Schuldich."

The German is stunned to silence. These can simply be the most heartfelt words he has ever heard from his former leader. After working together for so many years, Schuldich knows Crawford cares more about some people, Schwarz in particular, than he let on. He does freely dispose of those who do not give him what he wants, but at the same time, he treats well those who respect and care about him, to an extent that he tolerated Tot for Nagi's sake. He does get out of his way to help these people - Glyn is a fine example that comes to Schuldich's mind. But such words. Crawford just does not say these things.

But perhaps, for a group like Schwarz, there had to be a leader like Crawford. His role did not permit him to display any weakness.

//Heh. Don't you even imagine you've got that much influence over me, O-Leader. I do nothing for nobody.// Schuldich says coolly, both himself and Crawford knowing it is a plain lie, told to soften the atmosphere again. //Those are words of the weak, Brad.//

"I never said I haven't got weaknesses of my own."

//Ah. But you hate being weak. You hate it when someone finds out your weaknesses.// Schuldich abandons the floor and sits on the bed again. //You gave me hell when I teased you about your soft spot for Nagi.//

Crawford chuckles softly. "True."

//So why are you showing it and even admitting to it now, or should I not ask?//

The question makes a ripple on Crawford's calm surface. He slouches into the bed as if suddenly defeated. "It's why I'm telling you all this now. You'll find out."

* * *

For their second job as a team, and Schuldich's first assassination job, they stayed in a small apartment in Amsterdam provided by the SS.

Strictly speaking, they were not Schwarz. SS only ordered Crawford to find a partner to work with. This partnership lasted for three years before Schwarz came into existance.

By the end of their first job, a three-months long protection service, though, Crawford realised "partnership" was not the word to describe their working relationship. First of all, Schuldich had little field experience. Crawford expected that, Neumann and Silvia had both worked on the field for much longer than he did in the last team, so he could imagine some of the problems Schuldich had to deal with. Facing real people instead of other trainees in combat, learning when to kill and when to let live... Schuldich dealt with it well. 

The second issue that made Crawford rethink their relationship was Schuldich's unnerving devotion to him. Sure, the German could be irritating - by then Crawford was sure it was a trait found in all telepaths - but beyond that, he had always displayed an absolute trust to the precognitive. If Crawford told him to run towards the source of the bullets or jump into a fire, he would do it, no questions asked. Trusting a precognitive during a job was important, but to never ask "why" about his decisions...

Assassinations required planning. They were not quick hit-and-run jobs - those were for amateur killers, not assassins. Planning meant learning the target's movements, habits, trusted people, the name of his milkman and the brand of his toothpaste, if necessary. How they killed could also depend on their client, some of whom may ask for an "accident" whilst others want the ugliest, most publicised death possible. The most difficult ones may even specify the time of death and how exactly they want the target to die. The worst job Crawford ever landed himself into had involved several garbage bags, a wood shredder, and much gore.

He kept his composure throughout, yes, but he would rather not think back to that event again. Who said he had no weaknesses? There was someone infinitely more evil and disgusting than Crawford ever could be.

He was glad that the German's first job would be a simple, clean one involving only a silent bullet in the head.

Schuldich was sitting at the table, next to him, whilst he drew out the floorplan of the building. "Two men here." He circled a doorway. "One here. I'll distract him, you move in for the kill."

Schuldich gasped as he watched Crawford drew arrows on the paper, indicating their exit routes. "You see all this?" He asked, forgetting to use past tense. "In your head?"

"Yes, I _saw_ it. It's called a 'vision'." Crawford passed the piece of paper to the German. "Are you clear on what you have to do?"

Schuldich smiled at him, a finger going up to tap at his own temple, which was covered by a cream-coloured headscarf. "Tell me there to my head." He paused, suddenly stuck for words. "Ich - "

"English, Schuldich." The American immediately pointed out, one eyebrow arching with warning. "I'll talk to you by telepathy during the job, if that's what you meant."

There was definitely something more the German was trying to say. The eyebrows were knotting and he groaned angrily.

"You can always try the dictionary." The American suggested coolly.

"I kan't do Englisch." Schuldich sighed and got up, pushing his chair back with enough force to scratch the floorboards, and left for his bedroom without another word. Thinking that the teenager had given up, Crawford retreated to his own bedroom as well to get some rest. Schuldich's First Kill must run smoothly, and he had strained himself by looking too far into the future to plan things right. His clairvoyance only allowed him to see into the next few minutes, hours if he was lucky, with a good degree of accuracy, but definitely not the next day. Attempting visions upon visions had resulted in a headache that frayed the edges of his sight. He crashed into bed once he was in his room, tempted to tell Schuldich to get him some painkillers.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Schuldich entered his room, without knocking or a word of warning. The German, standing beside the bed and holding his dictionary, grinned at the other man triumphantly. "Trust." He said, as if proud that he had taught himself a new English word.

"What?" Throw him out or not throw him out, Crawford asked himself, but his aching head refused to answer.

"I trust you." Schuldich waited a moment longer until he could see that Crawford understood what he was trying to say earlier at the table, then turned on his heels and left. "Gut-night."

After freezing in amazement for several seconds, Crawford picked himself up to look for the painkillers.

Trust. What a joke. Schuldich must be the first one in SS to say the word, and he was so, so wrong.

It all worked according to plan, right down to how Schuldich executed the shot. Crawford had gone through with him earlier how to shoot in close distance without getting blood splattered on himself, and the German performed well - until the moment after the shot, when their telepathic link suddenly went dead.

The caterer, who cursed when Crawford knocked over his food cart, had gone back to the kitchen to get something else for his boss instead. The other two men in the hallway went away for things to clean the gravy-soaked carpet with. Crawford took the chance to look for his partner, a step not planned for. They were not meant to see or associate with each other in any way during the job.

The target was in his armchair, eyes and mouth wide open like a fish, with a hole in his forehead. Schuldich stood, separated from the target by a work desk only, gun in his left hand. Nobody moved in the room. The target because he was dead, and Schuldich because... Crawford was not sure. Could it be fright, that he had killed someone?

A shocked man was difficult to handle enough. A shocked and armed man could be worse. Crawford looked for the best way to proceed, knowing they had less than three minutes to leave the building if they wanted to avoid any battles. Crawford tried telepathy again, but no response came.

He took several steps closer, trying to see the expression on the German's face. Blue eyes were squeezed shut. Lips pressed together tightly. Every muscle on the face was tense, as if trying to shut out something too painful to bear. The outstretched hand, still holding the gun, shook with tension. If he was breathing, Crawford could not see it. Calculating his chances of getting shot at this angle, Crawford decided it was too slim, so he reached out and placed his hand on Schuldich's shoulder.

Upon the touch, the German came back to life again, and shook his head violently as if trying to shake out the reminisce of whatever he felt in the last few moments. Then, realising where they were, Schuldich took the lead and they were out of the building before anyone was back.

Later, Schuldich said what happened was a "headache". He did not bother explaining himself. It was not until many years later that Crawford understood what had happened: Schuldich had locked himself to the man's mind, and when the shot was fired, the pain of death went into Schuldich, only he could not die from it because the wound was not his. Empathy at its best. He had the pain of getting a bullet in his head without dying. After that time, Schuldich learned when to detach himself from people's minds, and that a physical touch with the precognitive could bring his mind back to normal because of how their powers influence and interfere with each other. That interference could heal, but it could also bring pain. Great pain.

But Crawford only found out years later. He wished the German had told him in the beginning, it probably would have saved the younger man a lot of pain.

* * *

//What's that look for?// Schuldich asks, turning away from Crawford to stare up at the ceiling. He wonders if the bed is soft, he cannot feel it even though he is laying on it. He supposes it is.

"Explain." The American says, dragging out the word slowly, making sure he sounds very irritated.

//I told you I'm the M-type. I like torturing myself, okay?//

Crawford just looks at the German, not accusingly, but obviously not satisfied with that answer. "Explain, now."

//Fine, fine, asshole.// Schuldich rolls over in the bed, pushing his face into the pillow. //I was afraid, okay? I was scared that you'd throw me out, or send me back to Rosenkreuz or something.//

"Care to expand on that?" Crawford thinks he knows why, but still...

//It's a weakness, and you hate weaknesses. You eliminate them at the first chance you get.// Sighing a little, Schuldich continues. //I wasn't going to give you a chance to get rid of me for something I could deal with on my own.//

"Of course you can deal with it yourself. My arm for you isn't like plank for a drowning man." Crawford laughs with a good dose of sarcasm, pulling covers on the effects of those words have on him. Weakness? Schuldich knows so much, yet so little.

Schuldich has yet to discover what Crawford's real weakness is.

[to be continued]

1. Sanroujin: Literally translates to "Three Old People". They appeared at the end of the anime, wanting to use Aya-chan's body to resurrect a person they referred to as "the Great One". During their meeting with Schwarz prior to the ceremony, the old woman mentioned that Schuldich was her "chosen telepath". [go back up]

_Author's note: This fic is running wilder than I expected it would. I'm cursing myself as I type this out as well. Argh. I don't know what's going on, but I promise you, it's Brad's fault, not mine. My aim was to finish below 40000 words, but by the looks of things, that won't be possible. I need to double that estimate! It's not the first time fics take off and get lives of their own. It happened with [When You Gonna Learn] and [Epitaph] as well, so (hopefully) it's not a bad thing. And yes, the "weakness" theme will appear a lot in this fic from now on._


	7. Part 7

**Blinded**

Part Seven

The day after Schuldich's First Kill, Crawford decided to ask the question.

Schuldich was watching the English news channel, because it was the only channel that did not speak Dutch, or he was trying to learn English, Crawford was not sure and did not care. There were more important things on his mind. He intended to delay it until the last moment so that he did not have to kill the German - if it came down to that - until the last moment. But he could not do that again. He wanted to give Schuldich the choice early so that the German had time to at least think about it. He never gave that choice to Jamie. The same mistake should not be made twice.

The doorbell rang, and Schuldich answered to door, paying the delivery boy in exchange for a giant pizza and garlic bread.

"Krawford, you want pisa?"

"Sure."

They sat on the couch, watching the news and eating pizza. After Crawford reached for his second slice, he spoke to Schuldich.

//How strong's your mind?//

//Huh?// Schuldich paused mid-bite. //What do you mean?//

//Can you keep secrets? Can other telepaths yank information out of you?//

//Yes to the first question. Nope to the second.//

//How sure are you on this?//

//Hundred-and-one percent. I still have to refine my mind reading and control, but I can do shielding peeeerfectly. Even SS' Neumann can't hack my mind.//

//Good. What I'm going to tell you is a matter of life and death. You can choose not to hear it.//

//Bring it on.//

Crawford continued eating, his eyes fixed on the television screen. //I'm planning an escape from SS control.// Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the German almost dropped his slice of pizza.

//What the fuck? You can't be serious. You won't be able to - //

//Are you with me or not?// Crawford's clean hand reached into his jacket and felt for his gun. It felt heavy and cold in his hand. As much as he did not want to, and did not think he would need to, he had it ready. Nobody was to get in his way, not even the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on. He had been that way all this life. He would not break tradition for a German boy.

If Schuldich detected the meaning of that movement, he did not show it. He pushed the crust of the pizza into his mouth and sucked the tips of his fingers. //Mister precog, can't you predict my answer?//

//Your answer depends on a decision I can't trace. Answer me now.//

Schuldich reached for the garlic bread, so relaxed they could be talking about the weather. //The Grand Escape? Heh. Just don't leave me behind.//

_"You said you won't leave Harri and I behind!"_

Jamie's voice echoed in Crawford's head, each word as clear as if it had just been spoken. Had it been twelve years ago already? If time could heal all wounds, why did it still hurt?

//I won't. We'll do it together.// It was a reply to Schuldich as well as a vow to himself. He would never go back on his own words again.

Jamie would be proud of him.

* * *

An arm rises from the man laying with his face buried in a pillow, gesturing for Crawford to stop.

"You didn't know about the gun."

//No. But I do now.//

Schuldich laughs, the bitterness of the sound surprising himself. So many questions flashed through his mind that moment, now he has all the answers. So the precognitive was ready to kill him since the beginning, he had been right about that all along.

Oh yes, he knew since day one that Crawford disposes of useless people with the same frame of mind he has for regular rubbish. Schuldich just thought he was different. And he was wrong.

_//Are you with me or not?//_

It could have been a trap. Crawford could have been acting under SS instructions to test his loyalty. If he gave the wrong answer, he could not be sure Neumann would be able to cover his sorry ass again.

Or, it could be Crawford asking him to give SS the finger and go with him instead.

Schuldich chose to take that question at face value. It made answering it very easy, and he would much rather believe Crawford needed his help in some grand escape. It felt so much more satisfying, and somewhat romantic.

He snickers, remembering another German romantic telepath. Neumann and him could so easily be brothers.

Still, that does not drive away the fact that Crawford was going to kill him.

"Schuldich." Crawford finally speaks, unsettled by Schuldich's random snickering.

//Don't apologise. You aren't sorry.//

"I am."

//You were just being you. And I can hate you so much sometimes just because of who you are.//

"Did you hear me at all? I said I'm sorry."

//Shut up. You aren't. Don't act out of character for me, I don't need your sympathy.//

"Don't tell me what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to act."

//Fuck you.//

"Are you actually angry, Schuldich? Because I don't think you are."

Shoulders begin to shake, then the German flips himself over, finally giving in to laughter. He runs a hand through his wild orange mane, then one blue eye winks at the other man. //I don't think you're sorry either. You knew I'd be on your side, didn't you?//

Crawford shrugs.

//But if I proved you wrong.// Schuldich pulls a face at him. //You were prepared to shoot me.//

Crawford ignores Schuldich's intense blue gaze and closes his eyes. Would he use the gun? He had to, in case the German leaked the plan to the SS. Only dead men do not speak, Schuldich had to die.

Or, if he could convince Schuldich it was just a SS loyalty test, then he would not have to kill him. And Crawford would be stuck in SS until their partnership ends. Which could be a long time. Once he owns something beautiful, he does not let go. Unless he destroys it with his own hands.

Freedom on his own, or SS until the end? Crawford guesses it only depends on how attached he is emotionally to Schuldich. When SS finally fell apart and Schwarz was set free, he chose to be on his own. If he could make that decision even after working together for so many years, then he should have had no problem pulling out that gun the day he asked for Schuldich's loyalty, at the beginning of their partnership.

"I would've shot you and told the SS that you tried to rebel."

Schuldich replies with a snort. Honesty has it downsides, and this is definitely one of them. It would have been a change if Crawford says he would not kill him no matter what. But hey, it's Crawford... //And now? If you have to make that decision now?//

One of Crawford's hands stiffens. Long fingers flex, and then squeeze into a tight fist.

"You know I don't like hypothetical questions. And you're already dead." He sidesteps the question easily. "Why would I have to make that decision now?"

"Che." Schuldich hates it when Crawford picks on his words.

Crawford rewards him with an evil smirk.

* * *

Schuldich went on his infamous hunger strikes, the first one since teaming up with Crawford.

They were in his home country, America, in fact the same city he once lived, waiting for SS instructions. He allowed Schuldich to run free as long as he did not do anything that would disclose the location of their house or compromise the upcoming job in any way. The German, whose hair was still white-blonde, wild and long, had agreed to the plan and they stayed in that house for almost ten weeks before SS finally contacted them. During that time, both of them minded his own business, went out on his own, and did not ask questions about what each other was doing. After all, they were just grown men working together, not family.

Crawford spent most of that time experimenting his clairvoyance. It definitely grew much stronger over the past year, but they had been so constantly on the move he had no time to think about it at all. Now that they had time to stop, Crawford could relax and explore whatever it was pushing around inside his head. And he could take time to deal with any migraine that may arise as a result of trying too hard.

He had no idea how Schuldich spent his time during most of those ten weeks. Sometimes from the clothes and smell of smoke and booze he could guess the German went clubbing. Sometimes he did not come back to sleep, probably finding warmer beds elsewhere. And sometimes, although not regularly, he would stay at home all day to read a book, watch television or do whatever he does in his room.

The only time Crawford was sure the German would be home were Mondays, when he would go to China Town to buy takeout. The German would be at home waiting for him and they would have dinner together. There never was a formal agreement between them to meet on Mondays, but the habit became stuck. During supper, the German would try to irritate him by attempting to drag him out to clubs together, or at least go watch a movie. Crawford would decline those offers, saying he had better things to do. Then he would finish his meal and make the German do the clean-up.

"Geez, you're what, twenty-four? Twenty-five? Come enjoy life a bit!" Schuldich was at it again, mumbling as he stacked foil boxes together and collected the disposable chopsticks.

"Who says I'm not enjoying it right here?"

"I know you do. I stay in sometimes just for the sake of it as well. But who says clubbing with me isn't better?"

It was good effort, to Schuldich's credit. Eventually, on the Thursday of the ninth week, Crawford obliged and went with Schuldich to shut him up once and for all. Sometimes even he forgot he was still in his early-twenties, how he loved parties and clubs back in university, and how entertaining the company of women could be.

That was the first time Crawford truly realised the amount of attention the two of them drew when they stood together. The bouncers. The bar tender who rarely looked up at anyone. The DJ. The women who were drinking or dancing. Even the men.

//Umm... What can I say. It's good to have you here, looks like I'll have better catches.//

Crawford could hear the smirk in Schuldich's voice. He snorted. After a few drinks and a quick observation of the populants of the club, they separated to do their own thing. Schuldich went dancing with a very possibly underaged pretty girl with hair as short as Farfarello's, and Crawford locked lips with a gorgeous young woman with long legs and British accent. He had her pinned against the wall in a corner just off the dance floor, the kiss lasting until the DJ mixed in something new with a different beat.

He found his way back to the bar, and was later joined by a sweating Schuldich.

//So you're straight.// These were the first words he said, using telepathy to overcome the drowning music, before asking the bar tender to get them more drinks.

One of Crawford's eyebrows shot up. //Is this what all the dragging and begging's all about? Finding out which way I swing?//

//Hell no, it's good to come out and play, that's all. But,// The German winked at him, downing whatever it was the bar tender gave him. //you wouldn't let me read your SS file, and I'm interested, so finding out now is somewhat a bonus.//

Crawford played with the word "interested" in his head, deciding that Schuldich did not mean it that way. The younger man needed to watch his words more.

Before Crawford could throw back a sarcastic remark, Schuldich suddenly hopped off his stool and pushed his ways towards the men's room. Crawford ignored him, until he noticed there was urgency in the way he pushed at the crowds, and how the upper body, particularly his neck, seemed to have tensed up. When a telepathic call did not achieve the ususal response, Crawford followed the German.

The men's room was empty save Schuldich, who sat on the floor right under the condom dispenser, his face buried in his knees.

"What did you drink?" Crawford's voice was irritated but not without worry.

"Nichts (Nothing)."

Crawford knew better than to pick at Schuldich's choice of language right now. "Was ist los mit dir (What is wrong with you)?"

"Stimmen (Voices)..."

Telepathy backlash? Had Schuldich been using too much telepathy, or merely been crushed by all the voices in the club? Not many choices were open to Crawford - he simply could not leave his telepath here underneath a condom dispenser.

_His_ telepath? That did not sound too wrong. They were more leader and team than partners anyway. Just a rather small team.

A quick precognition check gave no signs of danger for the next several minutes, and Crawford reached down to grab the German by his upper arm. "Los, wir wollen gehen (Come on, let's go)."

Schuldich jerked his arm away, letting out a half scream, as if it burned. When he lifted his face from his knees, those eyes were blank. He swatted Crawford's helping hand away and got up on his own.

If Crawford had to pinpoint when that hunger strike began, it must have been the night at the club. He thought Neumann had handled the telepathy problems, but from Schuldich's face, which was not in pain but frighteningly blank, there was obvisouly more to it. They drove home, Schuldich made his way to bed, and Crawford dropped him some painkillers. There was only so much he could do, and he had no idea his own growing clairvoyance, together with the club crowds, were what induced the pain.

No wonder Schuldich would not let him stand within five feet radius.

Schuldich stayed in his own room - en-suite, thanks to SS - for the next three days. Crawford left him alone, spending that time to try and dig up any information SS had about telepaths. Talkng to several other team leaders confirmed his suspicions that SS knew very little and what they knew, they tried to cover. The long list of telepaths who had died of unknown causes or killed on the job whilst with a perfectly capable team was not encouraging either. Rumour had it that at least two of those telepaths committed suicides. One died of starvation. There was definitely something SS did not want anyone to know.

And damn that Neumann for not telling him. He must know, being a telepath himself and having supervised Schuldich.

Crawford had no plans to let Schuldich die like that, they were still nowhere near seeing the end of their days in the SS and he needed the telepath.

//Schuldich, I bought Chinese.// Crawford stood outside Schuldich's bedroom. He knew the door was not locked, but also knew better than to go in.

//I'm not hungry. But thanks.//

//They called, the job's tomorrow morning. I don't want to work with a sick horse. Come and eat.//

A sigh, low but audible, came through the door. Sheets rustled, and then there were sounds of feet padding on the floor. //Okay.//

At the table, Schuldich poked his fried rice with his chopsticks. His stomach growled.

"If you're hungry, why don't you eat?" Crawford asked, slurping in a good amount of MSG noodles. It was hard to find genuine Chinese food. Occasionally he missed his mother's cooking. But everything came with a price, and he had to make do with restaurant food.

With tangled hair tied back roughly by an elastic band, blue eyes peered at him under blonde bangs. Apparently Schuldich thought the question did not deserve a reply.

"Schuldich." There was warning in the voice. "I know telepaths like starving themselves, but I need a reason. I won't work with someone who randomly decides to starve himself."

That was enough a threat. The German chewed on his lips. "Hunger keeps the head clearer."

"Not if you don't eat for three days."

"It give me another feeling to concentrate on, rather than the voices in my head." Schuldich finally gave in and ate a dumpling. "Physical pain does as well, I just don't like hurting myself."

//You wouldn't like to see scars on me, heh?//

Crawford chose to ignore that comment. "What causes it?"

Schuldich glanced at him once, and he shrugged.

If those "voices" were bad enough to make other telepaths take their own lives, Crawford had to act quickly. He weighed his options. Force Schuldich to eat and let him be driven insane. Leave him alone and hope he gets better. Leave him alone and he dies starving. Make him at least eat something tonight so that they would get through the job tomorrow without getting killed.

He passed the thought to Schuldich, who unwillingly gave in. They ate in silence, Schuldich quickly regaining his playful character, chopsticking-in chicken pieces that Crawford was about to get, even taking pieces of bak-choi from Crawford's foil box. Crawford considered spitting into the food to stop Schuldich from more stealing. The thought hit him, that if Jamie was still alive, he and Schuldich may be rather alike. Jamie did like fighting with Brad over food. Not just over food, but everything...

He cracked an evil smile when the German made a disgusted face after he spat into his food. For a moment, he felt young, something he had not felt since entering Rosenkreuz. Schuldich had given it back to him. The goddamn German definitely yanked out the kid Crawford buried inside himself.

After the meal and a quick job briefing, Schuldich retreated to his room again.

Before going to sleep, Crawford tried to vision next day's events, and his heart skipped a beat.

The freeze-frames that flashed in the back of his mind were random in time. He saw their exit first, and then the kill. A hand reaching for a jar of ink. Some sort of fight in the middle. A man dead or dying on the carpeted floor. Schuldich wearing a pink shirt.

No, a white shirt that was soaked in blood.

[to be continued]


	8. Part 8

**Blinded**

Part Eight

//Schuldich.// Crawford, dressed in a black suit, stood next to the buffet table.

//Yeees?// Came Schuldich's reply. He was across the hall, leaning against a wall and nursing a glass of champaign. He was dressed in a black suit as well, but decided he did not like ties or the top buttons of the white shirt.

//Do exactly as I tell you to. Don't pull any stunts.// The image of blood soaking through white shirt came to mind again.

//Oh master, why'd you think I'd do that?// The blonde seemed to be feeling fine, even allowing himself to enjoy the food here, although Crawford did catch him swallowing a good amount of painkillers before leaving the house earlier. He raised his glass of champaign to Crawford's direction, smiling. //The champaign's good, try some.//

//I don't drink on the job. And I'm driving later.//

//Oh, a law-abiding assassin, I see.//

Their job was to kill the client's own father during his retirement party. The party was large with a guest list of around a hundred people, taking up the ground floor and gardens of a mansion. The client, whom Schuldich had affectionately named "The Penguin" because of his appearance, was amongst the guests, doing the job of the host. He had made arrangements with SS, but had not met his assassins.

It was time.

//Upstairs.// Crawford politely pushed his way through the thick crowd of people to the main grand staircase, joined by Schuldich a moment later. Crawford gestured for the guest washroom.

Schuldich checked the cubicals. Empty. They washed their hands and put gloves on, and waited. They were instructed to kill without blood, as the client did not want blood in the mansion, and to them, the quickest methods were strangulation or breaking a neck.

//No weapons. Very artful. Very kung-fu.//

//Shh. He's outside. Should be coming in - now.//

The target was on his way downstairs to make a speech. He stopped outside the washroom, telling his servant to wait a moment.

"Sir." Crawford said politely as the man entered the room. "Your son wishes to tell you that he has prepared the best retirement present for you."

//Cheesy speech.//

//Instructions from The Penguin.// Crawford frowned. Everything was as planned so far. Just one more step. He slowly let out a breath he had been holding. What he visioned must have been wrong, he could not see next day's events to any good amount of accuracy anyway. Schuldich getting hurt would mean his failure in giving correct instructions or making Schuldich follow them. Schuldich getting hurt might mean scarring the German. Schuldich getting hurt might mean losing that absoulte faith the German had for him, or even losing the man.

Crawford hated that idea.

//Go for his neck.//

Before Schuldich moved, the door bursted open and a man stepped in, arm extended with a silenced gun. "Back off."

What the hell - 

"I knew my brat was planning something." The father crossed his arms on his chest, looking amused. "So easy to catch you out, and you call yourselves the SS?"

Schuldich narrowed his eyes at the barrel pointing at them. //You goddamn precog, you didn't see this coming?//

//... No.// Crawford had no time to think why this happened, only how to get out of it.

//What do you see next?//

//He's going to shoot you first, through your left eye.// Crawford felt his muscles tensing up. So that would be where the blood came from? //Don't move at all, I'll jump him. On three.//

//Wait fuck no he - //

//Just don't move! One. Two.//

Crawford barely saw the gun suddenly turning towards him and the movement of the German on his left, so fast the black of his suit and the white of his shirt and hair blurred. Schuldich rammed his shoulder into their attacker to knock him off balance, then moving just as fast, stepped behind their target and grabbing the sides of the head with gloved hands, broke the neck with a loud crack.

A silent bullet was fired.

//Fuck! Go!// Crawford was already at the door, and Schuldich ran with him, the gunman chasing behind. Whatever happened, he would question the German later. He told him not to move! And the man was suppose to shoot Schuldich first, not suddenly turn the gun at him!

They ran into the study, the gunman's shots only missing them narrowly.

//Told you not to pull any stunts!//

//Crawford that man's - // Schuldich cut himself off when the gunman arrived, lunging himself at the larger man. The force threw the man off his feet, the two landing onto the carpeted floor with a thud. The gun fell from his hand.

Crawford scrambled over to the gun when the man threw Schuldich off himself and tried to get up. One shot to the head, three more in the chest just to make sure. It was one of the most unstylish killings he had ever done, maybe just better than that time he had to put a man through a wood shredder.

//Fucking hell.// Schuldich, slumped on the carpet, swore silently. //This hurts, man!//

Blood was soaking through his clothes where the first bullet in the washroom hit him in the shoulder. There was his blood on the carpet.

No. Shit no. Fuck. Schuldich was hurt. //Idiot!// Crawford went over the examine the damage. The suit was pierced on one side only, meaning there was no exit wound and the bullet was still buried inside. And somehow Crawford knew it was his error of judgement that caused it. //I told you not to move! You know how little blood they need to profile your DNA? And you've got it all over!//

//That guy's a precog.// Schuldich winced as he stood. The bullets were silent and no one knew what had just happened yet, but they had to move fast. //A precog who doesn't know how to shield his mind. He saw us coming and saw you were going to jump him. He knew what I was gonna do as well, I just moved too fast for him.//

A precognitive with no training? One that the SS did not catch? Someone whose gift was definitely stronger than him. A stronger willpower. Fuck it!

Crawford found a large briefcase and made Schuldich take off his suit jacket, putting it inside. He would have to bring it home and burn it. For the blood on the carpet, he grabbed the bottle of writing ink on the desk and poured it over. Even if someone noticed there was blood, it would make getting evidence very difficult.

He needed something to control the bleeding. Yanking off his tie, Crawford knotted it on the wound, exerting enough pressure to hopefully restrain the bloodflow.

//Put this on.// Crawford shrugged off his own jacket and passed it to the German, helping him to button it up, covering the blood on his shirt. //Move fast, before it soaks through this one as well. Was there blood in the washroom?// If there was, he had to go back and deal with that too.

//No.// They were already moving, finding another staircase back downstairs, merging themselves into the crowd once more. Schuldich moved quickly but stiffly, his face pale from blood loss and pain. By the time they reached the gardens, his jacket was stained with blood again, but darkness of the night helped them and they left, slipping into their car unnoticed.

"You don't mind blood in your car?"

"Shut up."

Schuldich laid across the passenger seats, using the briefcase Crawford took as a pillow. The bullet was in his left shoulder, so he leaned on the right one. There was so much pain in his voice, Crawford could tell he was shivering becasue of it. "I didn't have enough time to tell you... Didn't mean to ignore your instructions..."

Crawford ignored him and kick in the acceleration. Schuldich worried about this? Now? If Schuldich had not been suffering from what he called "the voices", he would have made him scan for dangers. Why did it have to be this job, at this time, that the telepath got a backlash? Thinking they could rely on precognition alone had been stupid and they were caught out. If it had not been the German, Crawford would have been killed. So whose fault was it? His, for not pulling the team out when the telepath was not fit enough for it. His first real failure in life almost had the two of them killed.

"We can't go home, by the way." Schuldich said as if he suddenly remembered something. "The precog knew where we live. I don't know who else does, but I saw it in his head."

Crawford slowed their car. So that house was compromised. But where could they go? He needed a place where he could see to Schuldich's wound and contact the SS. Hospital was out of the question. He could not walk into a hotel with a man soaked in blood. A motel? He was not so sure he could treat the injury well in a dimly lit, dirty room...

"Dammit!" A hand hit the steering wheel as Crawford swore. He turned the car around, keeping his speed within legal limits as to not catch any attention. There had got to be a safe place to go!

Crawford never thought he would come back to this place again. It had been four year since he packed a small suitcase and left everything behind him.

"Where're we going?" Schuldich voice was still strong, but his breathing was rapid and heavy. Crawford took it as a good sign that Schuldich was still conscious.

Crawford parked the car in the underground carpark. It was a good thing he still remembered his own sixteen-digit security code. He opened the door for the German.

"Where are we, Crawford?" Schuldich asked again when they stepped out the elevator, arriving at a pair of large, waxed wooden doors.

"My house." Crawford began punching in numbers in a pad on the wall, stopping when Schuldich waved his good arm at him.

"There's someone inside."

What? Crawford reached for the silenced gun in his pocket, one he took from the job just minutes ago. Time was of the essence, he could not be bothered to get a vision, whoever inside had to die.

Before he finished entering the security code, the door opened. Crawford pushed Schuldich to stand behind him, an arm lifting his gun.

Blue eyes. Blonde hair. A dirty shade of blonde, cropped short, gelled to defy gravity.

Glyn.

Crawford had no idea how long they stood. No one moved. Even Schuldich's ragged breathing was quieter.

He could not let anyone know their location.

Kill him.

He had a bleeding man standing behind him that he must see to.

He had to kill him.

Glyn stared down the barrel of the gun, blue eyes lifting to look at him. His best friend.

He had to kill him.

"... Brad?"

He could not repeat the mistake he made with Jamie.

He had to kill him.

He could not make the same mistake again.

He clicked the gun's safety back on. "Glyn, don't ask, just help me."

Crawford pushed pass his best friend, who stood, stunned, gesturing Schuldich to follow him to the bathroom. Blood dripped from Schuldich's left sleeve, and Crawford was glad he did not use carpet in the apartment.

"What's going on, Brad!" Glyn rushed to them, hands gripped both sides of the doorframe as he watched Brad ease the jacket off Schuldich's shoulders, revealing a pink shirt that was white not long ago. The tie was still in place. Crawford did not want to move it until he had some fresh bandages ready.

He gritted his teeth. Schuldich did not even as much as whimper. The goddamn telepath was pretending to be fine. He was getting very good at pretending. "Go buy me some bandages or whatever first aid supplies you can find. Painkillers too."

"But Brad - " Glyn stuttered at the sight, obviously wanting to suggest an ambulance.

"Please." Crawford gave up, finally turning to look at Glyn in the eye. "I can't explain right now."

Their eyes fixed on each other for several seconds. Crawford hoped his voice had been strong enough, and he was right, Glyn nodded once and was out of the apartment.

"Schuldich."

"Yo." The German gasped in pain when Crawford pushed the tie aside slightly.

"Talk to me." He examined the wound, which was just above the collarbone. There was a 24-hour store nearby, if Glyn was fast, he would be back with supplies in less than five minutes. Common medical knowledge told Crawford his priority was to make sure Schuldich stayed conscious. "Just keep talking."

"I'm good at that." Schuldich smiled, tossing his hair out of the way as he sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "Nice apartment."

"Thank you." Crawford answered, going through the cabinet for any tools he could use.

"You lived on your own?"

"Yes, I bought the apartment myself."

"How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

"Jesus Christ."

"Are you still hearing voices?"

"They always there. Always. But this hurts enough to distract me!"

"I'm glad." Crawford leaned close to the wound, squeezing water over it using a sponge. If the bullet was not lodged too deep, he could try to take it out with tweezers he just found in the cabinet. "How're you feeling?"

"I hate precogs!" Schuldich spat out, throwing his head back. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

"I'm sorry." The words were out before he knew. It was rare for him to apologise, precognition made it unusual for him to make mistakes. But he was sorry, even though it was because of a more powerful precognitive who twisted the future he saw.

Schuldich still managed to smile. Had he practiced his smile or something? "Apology accepted. Your friend's back."

The front door opened and shut, Glyn came back with a plastic bag full of antiseptic, gauze bandages and painkillers. "I'm not sure if these will do, but I got what I found."

"Perfect. Thanks. Go out, you probably don't want to watch this."

Casting a worried look at the long-haired young man, Glyn took half a step back, not sure what he wanted to do.

"Glyn, he'll live, it just won't be pleasant to watch. Go."

After it was all over and he had Schuldich dried and dressed in the clothes from his wardrobe, he made the German lie down in his bed and take all of the painkillers, although whether it helped at all remained a mystery. Drug-induced sleep took over Schuldich in no time.

There was something wrong with all this. Crawford stepped back from the bed, wondering what it was. It just did not look right - 

"Must be the first person I've ever seen to get into your room. Even your bed." Standing outside the bedroom, Glyn crossed arms over his chest, smiling at his old friend.

Oh yes, that was it. Nobody except him had ever slept in that bed.

"Thanks, Glyn." Crawford walked to him, pulling him in for a hug, secretly glad that he had already changed into something clean and dry as well. They slapped each other's back, the way men always did when they embraced, laughing. "Just thanks."

"No prob, consider it a repayment for all the homework I copied off you. I probably wouldn't have my degree without you!"

After several moments of good laughing, Crawford finally sighed, shaking his head. "You're going to ask me where I went the last four years."

Glyn smiled, rather sympathetically. "I already guessed. You don't need to breach job practice by telling me."

//I planted a little idea into his head. Told him we're CIA agents. He thinks we're working undercover.// A voice rang in Crawford's head, pained but amused.

//Go to sleep.// Crawford snorted inside his head. He had been fooled by the German's pretended sleep earlier.

//Going to, right now. I'm not going to listen to you two. Call me when you need me.//

"Have you called for help yet?"

Crawford had contacted the SS and told them about their situation. He nodded. "They'll be here in a few hours. Tomorrow latest. It's dangerous right now, but no one knows about this apartment." He told Glyn, keeping details vague.

Glyn smiled, looking relieved. He had not changed at all. His face, his smile, the way he spoke, it all reminded Crawford of the old times. The days when he was free to be his own master, when he could share his friends' laughter and tears without holding anything back, when he actually had company he enjoyed. He could laze around on a weekend, rent horror movies to watch with friends, have a good game of fencing...

Although there had been no choice given to him by the SS, the price he paid in exchange for power was too high. He wanted his freedom back in his hands.

"You got lucky. I just hired someone to clean this place last week. It was covered in dust!" As usual, Glyn's words were animated, his gestures highly exaggerated. He had always lacked grace and subtlty. He picked up a large envelope on the coffee table, passing it to Crawford. "I was just dropping by to leave you these. Look!"

The envelope was thick and heavy. Crawford pulled out its contents. Wedding pictures.

"Just last week, man! You were my first choice for bestman, Brad..."

They went through the photographs together. Glyn took his time to explain what happened in each one, eventually filling Crawford in on all that happened in the past four years. How he found a job and lost it, then borrowing enough money to start a small business. How he met his would-be wife, his proposal, the wedding. What all their old friends were doing. His plans for the future. How many children he wanted to have...

"And listen to this: Mel's pregnant." Glyn grinned, pointing at his wife in the photographs. "It's a boy. We're calling him Brad. Mel wanted to call him Bradley, but I figure just Brad's fine, heh?"

Glyn was naming his first child Brad.

Brad Myers.

_"Hey, my name's Glyn. You're Bradley Crawford, huh?"_

"Just Brad's fine."

Crawford felt weak. It hurt inside. He was going to be the bestman. They named their first child after him. Where was he when all that happened?

"How long now? Three, four months?"

"Four months!" Glyn grinned proudly.

"And you said your wedding was last week." Crawford smiled wickedly, nudging his best friend. "What the hell happened?"

"Ow! Accident, okay? We only found out way after the engagement! What are you trying to imply?!"

Crawford snorted, doing his best to look like he did not believe a word of it.

Glyn pulled a face at him. "Can you be there when Brad arrives? Can I contact you somehow? You want to be his godfather, right?"

Godfather? Him? "I don't think... Sorry, Glyn. I can't. I want to be the godfather, but I can't be there."

Fuck the SS.

"... Hey, no big deal! Just contact me whenever you can. You can always find me through the uni's alumni network." Glyn's voice dropped. "I hope you're happy, Brad. You don't look the way you did anymore."

What could he say? "I'm coping."

"I dunno... I just... You look as if..."

"It was good at first." Crawford admitted. "Now I just want out. It'll take some time."

"But at least you've got a good friend? Someone you can trust?" Glyn looked towards the bedroom. "How about that European with a funny accent? Looks like you just went through life and death together."

A good friend? Someone he could trust? Schuldich?

Crawford never thought of putting those ideas in the same sentence before.

"Yes." Someone who very probably had saved his life that night. Could he trust Schuldich? "Yes. I can trust him with my life."

"I knew it, man, you give out light! You literally shine. Everywhere you go, people are bound to be drawn to you like moths to light!"

"I don't think that's a very good metaphor, Glyn, considering moths die of the heat, and my friend there has a hole in his shoulder."

"Shit, you know I don't mean it like that."

Crawford just smirked at his friend. Glyn was smart, but sometimes so careless it was a wonder he never ran into major troubles. But it was this energy, this impulsiveness that Crawford liked about him. They balanced each other.

He tried for a vision when Glyn went to the bathroom. The SS backup team would arrive in an hour.

"Glyn, I think you better go. It's about time."

If SS found out about this meeting, what would happen to Glyn?

Would the death be painful?

Maybe he should do it himself?

Or maybe... //Schuldich? Are you still awake?//

//Hurts too much to sleep, O-Master.//

//Can you clean Glyn's memories of tonight?// Crawford knew it was too much to ask. Schuldich might not have the power or the strength for that, still hurting with backlash and a bullet wound.

//... Are you sure you want to do that? He's really happy to see you.//

//It's either that, or he has to die now.//

//Fine. I've done it once, only a couple of second's memories, not a few hours, but I'll try.//

Schuldich padded out of the bedroom, his face pale, eyes dark. Ignoring Glyn's surprised gasp, Schuldich grabbed the taller man by his shoulders. Then both men's eyes were blank. Crawford's skin tingled from the flow of energy in the room. No wonder SS had hopes that Schuldich would one day be as powerful as Neumann.

A moment later, it was done. Schuldich pushed Glyn out the front door, and perhaps through mind persuasion or control, sent him to take the elevator down.

Then the German's eyes slid closed.

"Schuldich!"

Schuldich went down like a rock, limbs and hair sprawled in all directions on the cold floor. He smiled, an arm reaching up to touch the American's face when he rushed over. "Brad, I'm so glad you're safe."

Crawford just stared, speechless.

"I thought you got kidnapped or mugged! You know, my best friend just - poof!- disappeared. You don't look so good. You smile differently now."

"Schuldich!"

"You were always so good at getting what you want. I don't know what you're doing now, but you never let things get the better of you. Come on, Brad - SCHEIßE (FUCK)!" Schuldich's hand left Crawford's face, tangling into his own hair instead. The German's face began to twist in pain. "Brad, you trust - HALT DEN MUND (SHUT UP)!!"

What the hell?

That had to be Glyn's mind. What was going on? Had he taken the last step to not only destroy Schuldich physically, but mentally as well?

"Come on, get up." Crawford helped Schuldich up, mindful of the bandaged shoulder. "Go to bed."

"Crawford could you - someone you can trust with your life. I'm happy you found such a person."

"Lie down."

"Crawford I need something that'll knock me right out." When his back touched the mattress, all the energy seemed to have slipped out of Schuldich's thin frame. "I'm going to call my little boy Brad. He's going to be the best little boy - don't worry Crawford, this is normal, it takes a while to take his memories off mine. Just ignore anything I say now."

"Just sleep, the backup team will be here."

It took only a moment for Schuldich to finally, truly fall asleep. Crawford reviewed what he had just witnessed. Of all those telepaths who killed themselves, how many were because they lost sight of who they were? How much could reading someone's thoughts damage one's own head? What if he could hear what everyone thought, would the wave of noise kill him?

He saw it. He almost just destroyed Schuldich. Having eaten next to nothing the last few days, hearing voices in his head, weak from blood loss, drugged to the eyebrows, Schuldich chose to risk his own sanity to save Glyn's life, simply because Crawford asked him to.

That goddamn idiot!

* * *

Schuldich shakes his head. He cannot remember much of what he said after entering Glyn's mind, but he remembered that pain, the way thousands of voices were amplified in his head, Glyn's mind dominating them all. For a few brief moments, he was Glyn. He felt the keen affection Glyn had for his friend, the relief of seeing him alive, and the joy of spending the last few hours with him. It was Glyn who reached up to touch Brad's face. Or perhaps it was him, he cannot tell anymore.

Crawford does not move when Schuldich holds up an arm, touching his face with his fingertips. If he chooses not to feel Schuldich, it is as if the fingers go straight through him. But he allows it.

Yes, this was what he did. He touched that face. It was that night that Schuldich found out Crawford was not as evil as he seemed to be.

//It's good you let him live.// The German whispers, fingers stroking Crawford's face absent-mindedly. //Thanks to Jamie again.//

"I didn't know how much it'd cost you." Crawford's reply is also a whisper.

After the backup team arrived and took Schuldich into their care, they had more than a physical injury to deal with. Schuldich's mind was almost in pieces. Although he did not talk again as if he was Glyn, he suffered an identiy crisis. Any doctors who had not learned mind-shielding were not allowed near Schuldich, for they would only add burden to the telepath's mind. That left very few doctors available. They used the stablising drugs their laboratories developed, and hoped for the best. Crawford visited often. It was his failure that brought this about, and he was not a man to walk away from his own mistakes. Apparently Neumann came by as well, but they never met each other. Neumann was avoiding him.

Sometimes Crawford just stood to watch for a few minutes. Sometimes he recalled the times they spent together, telling Schuldich about their first meeting; the jobs; the Chinese food they had on Mondays; and that club they went to, all through telepathy. He had no idea if Schuldich heard him at all.

//Sometimes, yeah.//

"Did that actually help?"

//To a certain extent.// Schuldich leaves it at that. Crawford's voice, a strong, deep presence in his mind, was what stablised him, not the drugs. To have someone constantly reminding him who he was and which bits to pick out from all the memories in his head helped him rebuild himself. But that did not stop him from wanting to knock himself out and stay asleep forever. That was why they had to strap him to his bed. It took SS a month to put the telepath back together.

"I don't know why you never told me what telepathy did to you. Were you trying to drive yourself insane?"

//Told you. You wanted a strong teammate. I wasn't going to let you throw me out.//"

"Does that justify risking your sanity?"

//Of course.//

The quick reply sends a shiver down Crawford's spine. "Correction. You're already crazy."

//Nah, I'm just crazy about a precog.//

[to be continued]


	9. Part 9

_Nagi's background in this part of the fic came from Dramatic Collection I (translation available from my site - check my ff account). What they say here will be a mix of what they really said in the drama, and my imagination (well, mostly imagination). The same will happen to anime and manga events that will be referred to further on in the fic._

**Blinded**

Part Nine

Schuldich knows where his attachment to the precognitive came from. Since he was in Rosenkreuz, he was already fascinated by this American who he had never met, hearing about him only through Neumann's words. Every time Neumann talked about the American, it was as if he was talking about the God of a religion he was devoted to. Schuldich knew that this foreign man had black hair, that he always looked impeccable even when dressed down, that he was the type that if one saw him on the street, he would stop whatever he was doing to look again.

Schuldich tried to push his hopes down when Neumann told him that they would be working together. Neumann liked him, big deal. If he liked someone, even the air he breathed would smell like perfume, how could Schuldich trust such biased opinion? But it was so difficult not to expect this man to be just as much a Neumann described him to be.

When Schuldich finally met Crawford, he understood what Neumann said about the American was an understatement. Crawford was so much more than Schuldich expected. He will never forget their first meeting, the way light poured through the doorway around the taller man, how he felt his heart stood still when his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw Crawford for the first time. Crawford's undeniable strength, both physical and mental, emanated from him and was picked up by Schuldich through empathy. That fact that he was a telepath and Crawford a precognitive played a part in it, definitely, but it was not all. Something in that voice, silently saying "come with me", tugged something inside the German and he got up and followed. Since that day, Schuldich lived for the beauty, the power, the charisma that was Brad Crawford. His life had been given a purpose.

_"Yes. I can trust him with my life."_

The words echo again and again in Schuldich's mind.

From learning the English word "trust" from his dictionary, telling Crawford about it and seeing him silently amused, to Crawford being ready to shoot him if he did not want to escape SS together, they had come a long way to the point Crawford said that he could trust Schuldich with his life. Schuldich wishes he did not keep his word about not listening to Crawford and Glyn's conversation. If he had heard Crawford saying that, he would... well he does not know what he would do, but at least during that month he spent battling for his own sanity, he would not have to fear that Crawford was going to leave him behind, whenever he was conscious enough to think for himself.

He was weak and he hated it. Crawford wanted a strong telepath, someone he could work with to escape the SS together, and Schuldich was not sure if he fitted the bill at all. When the American visited, always only standing outside of his ward looking through the large pane of glass, he held on to that voice like a dying man; when he was not there, Schuldich had to convince himself Crawford was going to come back, that he had not left for good, fed up with the weakling in a hospital bed. He simply could not imagine going back to Rosekruz again to complete his nightmarish training, then being assigned to work with a team without Crawford, then finally dying on the field, or be driven insane by his own power. He would have failed Neumann. Worst of all, he would have failed himself, for not clutching tight the one good thing in his life.

How could Schuldich have guessed that Crawford would trust him with his own life?

But Crawford kept it to himself. Perhaps it was all part of the game for him to control what Schuldich thought, to make him think what he wanted him to think, to keep him guessing. Crawford has always been good at mind games and manipulation, without needing to be able to read minds. He is good at getting what he wants, how he wants it.

Glyn said the same thing, that Crawford was good at getting what he wanted. Schuldich looks down at his hand, recalling when Glyn's mind was his and he touched Crawford's face. He also said that Crawford's smile had changed.

The German glances at Crawford, who is making a telephone call to the airport, and wonders what Crawford's old smile looked like. In the years they worked together, it was almost a rare occasion to see Crawford smile. Once in a while, when Schuldich came back from shopping and bought Crawford some ice-cream when he was obvously stressed out, Crawford would reward him with a grateful smile. Sometimes, when Schwarz arrived home after finishing a job particularly successfully, Crawford would lean back into the couch and smile at the ceiling. He might even smile at Farfarello, and praise him for a job well done. But since they knew each other, Crawford had never shown that smile to the world, reserving it for very private occasions only.

It was all obviously because Crawford hated life in the SS.

And Schuldich was part of that life. Was that why, after SS' downfall, Crawford disbanded Schwarz and left without looking back?

Crawford ticks an item off his planner, moving on to the next one. Make a call to Germany.

Hearing a familiar tongue, Schuldich finally pays some attention to what Crawford is doing. With slow, but accurate German, Crawford is confirming details on a burial.

//Oh, my funeral.// Schuldich leans on a glass door that leads out to a balcony. //Shouldn't I get to say how I want it?//

Crawford asks for the other side on the call to wait a moment. //I didn't think you'd care at all. So what do you want?//

//Um... I don't know...// The German rolls his eyes upwards and puts the tip of a finger into his mouth to show that he is thinking hard.

//Tell me when you do.// Crawford grunts at the typical Schuldich expression of pretended wisdom, going back to the conversation in German. Then Schuldich speaks again.

//Music.//

//Music?//

//I want music at my funeral!// Schuldich declares, grinning.

Crawford eyes the German. //What sort of music?//

//Something I like.//

//That's a rather large range to choose from.//

Schuldich shrugs. It is true that he listens to everything from folk to rap to classical. //You sort it out for me.//

//... Fine.//

//Get Nagi to sing or something.// Schuldich grins, and Crawford promptly ignores him.

Schuldich turns his attention away again. He wants to find out what music it will be at the funeral, not now. It will be interesting to see what Crawford has arranged.

It is too much to look for from Crawford, but Schuldich hopes it will be something romantic. He doubts Crawford knows what "romantic" is, though. He can bet the American has never bought flowers or had a candle-lit dinner in his life. Why? Because Schuldich cannot picture it.

Crawford gazes at Schuldich curiously and puts the phone down. He is not sure he likes the strange smile on the German's face.

//Oh, nothing. You've got a funny accent.// Schuldich waltzes his way to the American. //But not bad, your grammar's spot on.//

Crawford puts away his planner, not bothering to reply to the comments.

Schuldich drops himself into the bed, allowing his hair to tumble in all directions. He likes this bed, it is so large they can easily have three people sleeping in it and they will not roll into each other. //So, I was the first person to sleep in your bed. Bet I was the only one.//

"Actually, no. If the house SS gave counts too, then Nagi slept in my bed for a night as well."

//Oh damn. The kid broke my record.// Schuldich smirks. //Now that you said it, I remember... He was scared shitless.//

"He was afraid of me since the beginning."

* * *

SS suspended Crawford and Schuldich's field operations, their reason being that they wanted Schuldich to rest a while longer.

"Yeah, as if they were ever that humane." Schuldich tossed himself into the couch, obviously glad that he was finally out of the SS ward. "So what's the real problem?"

Crawford was in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. "Business is bad, there aren't enough contracts to go around all the teams."

"So we get a long vacation?"

"No." Crawford poured hot water into his drinking chocolate powder. "All the teams without contracts are going to look for new recruits. They're getting nervous, especially with the precog we ran into last time..." He paused, shoving the image of a bleeding Schuldich to the back of his mind. "We're to catch every paranormal we find and bring them to Rosenkreuz. If necessary, we'll kill them."

"Oh okay." //We're going to bring more kids into Rosenkreuz's clutches? Not that I have much of a conscience, but I don't like it.//

//A job's a job.// Crawford exited the kitchen, sipping his drink. //I want to find us a telekinetic anyway.//

//Oh?//

//The Plan. We need a telekinetic.// Crawford recalled his last team, with Neumann and Silvia. Having a telekinetic had made much difference when they needed to fight. Despite Schuldich's agility, he could never have the strength of a telekinetic.

//Ummmm. Lemme see.// Schuldich sat up. //You don't want to pick one from Rosenkreuz, they'll never agree with the Plan.//

//I'll find one myself and rush him through Rosenkreuz so that he doesn't get fully indoctrinated. Have him work with us, not SS.//

//Bring someone in so that we can get out with him? That's a very original idea.// "Well, I'm going to have a shower. Haven't had a proper one for a month!" The German announced, getting on his feet. "By the way, where're we going to catch these kids?"

"We've been assigned to go to Yokohama." Seeings Schuldich's brows furrowing, Crawford explained further. "It's a coastal city in Japan. I need to get into contact with some smaller sub-groups there."

"Japan? Cool, I've never been to Asia! Can you speak Japanese?"

"Just enough to get by." Crawford had learned Japanese in Rosenkreuz. Aided by his knowledge in Chinese, learning Japanese had not been as difficult as it was to the other trainees, but his Japanese was much weaker than his German.

"No worries, I'll be your translator." Schuldich smiled and left for the bathroom.

If Crawford did not know, he would have asked Schuldich to do that. But seeing Schuldich's fall, a vicitm of his own telepathy, Crawford realised how easily he could destroy the telepath simply by not carefully controlling his instructions. It took him a year to learn that every time he told the German to use his power, he could be taking away a piece of his identity.

And that goddamn telepath never spoke a word about it. He just allowed Crawford to tear him into pieces.

Crawford would need to be more careful from now on. He promised Schuldich they would leave SS together, not destroy him in the process.

Crawford would be true to his words. He never made the same mistake twice. Never.

Schuldick loved Japan. That much Crawford could tell. Why, he did not know. Perhaps Japan felt like old home Germany to him, the two countries sharing many principles, such as the importance of honour and discipline, at a certain level. But did Schuldich ever like his home country? Crawford was not even sure about that. Maybe Schuldich loved Japan simply because it was physically the furthest from SS he had ever been, with no SS branch in the country at all - yet. If all went well for them and other teams dotted around in the country, SS would set up a base in Japan.

Japanese paranormals were even rarer than their western counterparts. "I think this is just a waste of time." Schuldich said, loading their supermarket shopping into the car. "We're just following rumours and old stories. Quite frankly, I think we've looked at every corner in this city that ever had a ghost story attached to it, and that's pretty much everywhere."

They had been travelling to places that rumoured to have strange events occuring, everything from sightings of ghosts to unknown sources of fire. So far, they returned no results to Rosenkreuz. "The other teams aren't getting much neither. One team found a pyrokinetic, but that's one out of all nine teams in Japan." Crawford knew what Schuldich was going to say next, that this did not fit SS' style, which was to use their human resource efficiently. "Yes, normally they'd be taking the teams to somewhere else by now. I suspect they have greater plans for Japan."

The black sports car started, Crawford driving because Schuldich could not, the German singing to himself all the way home, as usual. To Crawford, the way they lived was rather like they were having a very, very long holiday, spending most of their time doing their own things instead of their job. They had looked all over for the paranormals Rosenkreuz wanted, and theirs was not the only team not delivering any performance, so he did not care.

They stopped outside the Yokohama Penichua Church. "Wait here."

"Oh, are you going to see that nun you were talking about?"

"SS' got some instructions for her." Crawford frowned, annoyance clear in his voice. He was a messenger. A goddamn messenger. SS better give him something better to do, soon.

The church which Amamiya Kaoruko worked in was a tiny building that looked as if it would fall down any minute. An old wind vane, obviously a child's craft, was attached to a pitched roof that surely leaked whenever it rained. Rusted hinges complained noisily when Crawford pushed the front doors open, leading him into small hall where Sunday masses were held.

Amamiya was talking with several children near the altar. Seeing the man at the door, she stood up, smiling at the newcomer. She hesitated, and Crawford knew she was deciding if she should use Japanese or English, because he looked like neither. "May... May I... help you?"

It was obvious that the nun's English was worse than Crawford's Japanese. "Nihongo mo ii. SS kara. (Japanese is fine. I'm from the SS.)"

The nun was not sure if she should be relieved that she could use Japanese, or be nervous that an SS agent was there. She ushered the children to the vegetable garden at the back of the church, then led Crawford to a small study.

"I want to confirm the details on your next two assignments. Will you be ready by next week?" Crawford did not bother to sit down. He spoke to Amamiya in Japanese, drawing a relieved sigh from the nun.

"That depends on the kids, Mister Crawford. I hope they'll be ready."

"Please make sure you can meet the dates. It's for the children's future, too."

Amamiya was a child psychotherapist who devoted her life to helping children with family and other problems. Many children had received her help over the years she worked in the Yokohama Penichua Church, gaining enough self confidence again to stand up on their own in the society. But there were always children who she could not help, not willing to live on on their own, never able to stop running from their problems and face them instead.

She believed she worked for God when she controlled these children to kill drugs and weapon dealers. When the children took their own lives after the act, she believed they had a meaningful death, at least to prove that they have lived and died for other children's brighter futures.

Amamiya thought SS gave her a route to remove evil from the world. It was partly true. SS used her to remove anyone who did not conform to them, driving prices down on their drug and weapon trades.

"I know. Thank you, Mister Crawford."

"And about the child you mentioned to me..."

"Oh yes, Nagi. His name's Naoe Nagi." The nun lifted her arms, moving them up and down slightly. "He arrived last week. I'm not sure... Everything in the room began to shake like this when the other boys laughed at him. There was wind even though all the windows were closed. I didn't know it was because of him then, but it happened again in his room."

Perhaps a telekinetic, Crawford thought to himself. "Why is he here? How about his family?"

"I don't think he has any living relatives. The file social services gave me said that he killed his mother over ten years ago, and had been receiving therapy since then. But he wasn't showing much improvement all these years, so they sent him to me and hope I can help him. But there aren't any details on his mother at all, so there's little I can work on."

A child who killed his mother? This Naoe child was not unlike him... Crawford let his own mother die too. On a practical level, he could say he killed her. "I'll see what the SS can find on that. Can I see this child now?"

"I'll take you to his room. He's a shy kid, still adjusting to the new environment..."

"I'll make the meeting short, don't worry."

Because of his strange powers, Naoe Nagi was the only child in the church who had his own room.

Crawford felt an odd vibration when he held the door handle. There was a flow of energy coming from the room, its pattern irregular, as if out of control. Precognition warned him of a flying chair, which he caught easily when he opened the door.

A little boy, no more than twelve or thirteen years-old, sat on the edge of a small, old bed, holding a kitten in his arms. His large, round eyes were a deep, mesmerising blue, and his hair was rich chocolate brown, cropped to above his ears in a typical Japanese boy's haircut.

Crawford found himself gazing into those eyes, as if he could drown in that colour.

The boy stared back at Crawford, his arms tighening around the kitten defensively. There was a hardness to the boy's face, one that did not suit his age.

The air in the room stilled.

"He doesn't look Japanese."

"I have no records on his parentage, Mister Crawford. He's been passed through so many authorities and caretakers over the last ten years. I have a feeling he was in the middle of some social services blunder, and they tried to wipe him off their records to cover up. The poor child. I'm sure he has lived in Japan all his life though."

Crawford could not understand all of the Japanese the nun used, but common sense filled in the gaps in his knowledge of the language. Nodding, he carefully stepped forward, putting the chair down where he thought it was supposed to be. Naoe Nagi's gaze followed the American's movement, weary of what the stranger may do. He scooted back a little on the bed, frightened, when Crawford finally approached him and crouched down so that they were at equal eye-level.

"Hello. My name's Brad Crawford. What's your name?"

The boy's face was blank. He answered Crawford's question with one of his own. A clever child. "Are you Sister's friend?"

"Sister and I work together."

They both turned to look at Amamiya, who smiled and nodded. Too wise for a thirteen years-old, Naoe Nagi was not convinced. Crawford could see that the child had picked up Amamiya's unease. He scooted back even further in the bed, gaining some more distance between himself and the stranger.

"You aren't a normal person."

The boy could tell Crawford had paranormal abilities. That surprised him. "No, I'm not. In fact, I'm a bit like you."

"No, I'm a normal person. You're not."

If the boy was not ready to accept that he was different, there was no use pushing him. Crawford shrugged, and stood up. "Maybe. I have to go now. Be seeing you."

It would be better to leave the child in Amamiya's experienced hands for now. He gave instructions to the nun, making sure Naoe Nagi would not become one of the killing machines, then left the small church.

"That took you a long time." Schuldich was almost asleep when Crawford got into their car. "Is everything okay?"

Schuldich buckled up when Crawford turned the ignition. They knew better than to catch the attention of any authorities, even if it was just the traffic police. They entered the country under false identities, with business visa. As sure as they were that no one would know the truth, paranormal professionals caught by the police for not using the safety belts in the car was just way too degrading.

"I've found our telekinetic."

"They have one in the church? What's his name?"

"He hasn't told me yet." Crawford smirked. "But I'm sure he will later."

[to be continued]


	10. Part 10

_When Nagi mentions "football" in this fic, he means the 11-men-a-side game, called "soccer" in the US. I really do prefer to call it football._

>**Blinded**

Part Ten

Crawford came back to the house in Yokohama, after taking the paranormal they found, a telekinetic, to Rosenkreuz.

The house SS provided was a typical Japanese house. Living room and kitchen on the ground floor, two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Small and old, there were water stains on the walls and they had learned to avoid certain spots on the floor where the floorboard squeaked or even moved whenever they stepped on them. It was nowhere as good as the other places Crawford and Schuldich had lived in in the west, but business was poor for the SS, and they refused to pay more. Houses in Japan were too expensive anyway.

After a tiring long haul flight, despite the prospect of going back to that shabby place they called a house, he almost looked forward to it and even hoped that there would be someone to pick him up at the airport, and he caught himself scanning the crowds for a certain German in the arrival hall. Shaking his head slightly and telling himself not to do that again, he made his way through the crowds, beginning his journey home.

When the front door swung open, Crawford was rewarded by a sight he had almost taken for granted for the last eighteen months. Blue eyes turned, sparkled, followed by a wide, genuine smile. Simply beautiful, and perfect. The way Schuldich could make his heart stop never ceased to amaze him.

"Yo Crawford, how was your trip? Want some ice-cream?" Schuldich was wearing a black tanktop and grey sweatpants, all loose-fitting, making him look thinner than he was. His long hair was tied up roughly with a piece of leather string.

Before Crawford could answer, Schuldich handed him a one-litre tub of chocolate ice-cream, and a spoon. Schuldich was already having a tub himself. Crawford smiled gratefully. Japanese summers were terribly hot, and although the air-conditioning was turned to maximum, ice-cream was always good.

"You're going to catch a cold." Crawford lifted a finger, pointing at Schuldich's outfit, eyes unconsciously lingering on the round-shaped scar above the German's collarbone, two inches from the neck. It was a dark, small dent with slightly raised flesh around its edge.

Whenever he saw that mark, he was reminded of his failure. It was a reminder that the telepath was ready to throw his life away for him without a second thought, that every decision he made could put a lot at stake. It was a reminder that he could not make any mistakes again, that another failure could not be amended so easily.

Crawford caught himself looking at Schuldich's shoulder again, and turned away, back to his ice-cream. Schuldich had forgiven him. To put it exactly, Schuldich never blamed him. But Crawford still had to learn to handle that failure, the first one in his life.

"'You're going to catch a cold.'" The German repeated, mimicking the American's voice. "Is that a 'I care' type of comment, or 'I see it coz I'm a precog' comment?" He flashed a devil-may-care smile, but at the same time put his ice-cream down and pulled on a sweater that was hanging on the back of a chair. It was a dark grey, oversized knit that was horribly mishaped, perhaps because it was meant to be handwashed but got thrown into the washing machine. It was not that Schuldich was not careful, he just could not care less about most things.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does." Schuldich said with mocked pain, which was quickly replaced by a grin when the other man rolled his eyes and sighed. "You didn't answer me. How was the trip?"

"Nothing special. Expect to move out of this hole in the next few months, because we won't be talent-scouting anymore. They've given us a protection contract from a politician - I think it's their way of rewarding us. They liked the telekinetic a lot."

"You didn't like the girl enough though." Schuldich flung himself onto the other end of the couch, the spoon in his mouth muffing his voice. "I wouldn't mind having her on the team for our Plan, you know, she's rather pretty. But I guess you like the church one better."

Crawford flashed him a look. //You do know anybody can be listening.//

A mental snort came from Schuldich. He held out his tub of cookies-and-cream ice-cream. "Hey, swap, I wanna try the chocolate one too." He said, the previous little talk about telekinetics quickly forgotten.

Tubs of ice-cream exchanged hands, the way Schuldich talked and acted prompting Crawford again that even at twenty-one, the mind reader was, and would always be more a kid than a man. At times like this, Schuldich was not merely a colleague, but a friend who was a little like a younger brother - clever but careless, or more precisely, more carefree than Crawford was.

He had not told Schuldich anything about Naoe Nagi. The German knew the telekinetic lived in a church, but had no idea he was a child with doll-like looks. He did not even know the name. He did not ask. Crawford guessed Schuldich did not care very much whether they found a telekinetic or not, or even if they would get out of SS in the future. After over a year's partnership, Crawford had observed that the German's world was rather empty, and he was so far the only person he saw that was part of that world. Sometimes even Schuldich himself seem to be standing outside, looking in, so detached he was from himself. A telepaths' trait, maybe?

Sometimes Schuldich could be too much for him. It was not dependence like Jamie, worship like Glyn, or the suffocating pressure he felt from his parents, but sometimes, the way Schuldich looked at him prickled his skin. There was a fierce intensity behind those depths, some sort of animalistic hunger, a longing that Crawford first saw when they met in Hamburg, and it seemed to burn through him.

That longing was always there. And it frightened him, because he never knew what it was for.

* * *

A low, mechanical humming comes during Crawford's momentary pause, causing the two of men to turn. The precognitive gets up and pulls out the vibrating mobile phone from the inner pocket of the coat that is hanging from a hook on the door. He makes an educated guess to who it is on the other side.

"Nagi."

"Wrong." A voice replies in English, the Irish accent faint but still detectable. "No prize for you."

On the bed, Schuldich picks up the expression on the American's face, and does his best not to laugh. //It's Farfie, right?//

If Crawford's memory serves him right - and so far it has not failed - Farfarello had never called him before. A perfect reason for his mistake.

Farfarello does not wait for Crawford's reply. "Where are you?"

There is Japanese music coming from Farfarello's side. Nagi must be there too. "England. You?"

"We're still in Berlin." Nagi this time, his voice as gentle as ever. "In the hotel. I need the computer to get to your phone." He adds as an explanation, because they have a computer in the room. "You went to pick up Schu?"

Crawford nods despite knowing that Nagi and Farfarello cannot see him. If only this is a video-phone... but when Nagi set up this line, they did not think they would ever use it this way. "I didn't leave a note, sorry."

"That's okay, we've figured out what's going on. Actually, Farfarello did. I meant to call earlier, but he told me not to."

"He's getting smart." Crawford laughs, his voice slightly dry from all the talking today. From the other side, Farfarello laughs too. The two ex-Schwarz members may be speaking on a computer microphone, so both voices are picked up.

//There's a fine line between insanity and genius. Farfie's crossed that, I think.//

Crawford glances briefly at Schuldich, gesturing him to be quiet for a moment. He can only handle so many voices at the same time. "I've arranged the funeral. Next Monday, at noon."

Everyone pause. Reality dawns - Schuldich is dead. Then Farfarello speaks again. "I have a couple more days to drink, then."

"He's taken a liking to German beers, Crawford." Nagi explains, allowing amusement to seep through his voice. "Can you believe that? And architecture as well. He's dragging me to see all these places. We just came back from the Reichtag."

Farfarello, the one they used to put in a straitjacket, likes architecture? The two of them travelling around like tourists? That makes no sense to Crawford. They changed. Over the years, away from Schwarz, they had grown like young men were supposed to.

Is that pride he is feeling?

"My employer..." Nagi pauses. They all know who Nagi is working for now, and have no opinions about it. "He's giving me time off indefinitely. He knows what happened. He knows I expect myself to go back too, but not so soon. There's so much I missed the last four years. I'm taking my time to catch up with Farfarello now. " Nagi stops again, then adds, with a hint of hopefullness. "Maybe you should join us, Crawford. Farfarello's got so much to tell, and so have I..." He trails off.

"Come, Crawford, and teach Nagi to drink. He's twenty-one and he doesn't touch alcohol."

Crawford smiles at Farfarello's comment. Is Nagi twenty-one already? The concept is difficult to grasp, especially after talking to Schuldich not long ago about the thirteen years-old Nagi in Japan. "I'll see you two next Monday, then... We'll see."

"Okay... Crawford?"

"Yes?"

"... Please take care." Voice hesitant and laced with worry, Nagi is telling Crawford that he is not unaware of the impact of Schuldich's death has on him. "You were always the one to watch over me... things were crazy back then and we never said much... Gosh, I don't know what I was going to say. I'm not trying to return a favour but... you do know you can always call me."

This, coming from the boy who used to be so frightened of him, and once attemped killing him so that he could run away. "Thank you, Nagi... thank you." Crawford closes his eyes, savouring the moment. "You take care too. See you."

Crawford ends the call, almost sorry that he has cut off the radio waves that linked him and Nagi together. It is true that they did not talk much during their time in SS, and when they did, it was usually Crawford giving instructions or scolding the child. He brought Nagi into the SS, made him live with three psychotic - he considered themselves that - killers, and put his life in danger so many times. Crawford slapped him simply for looking for love; allowed Farfarello to hurt Tot despite his visions; left him on his own when his powers were out of control... Of all the people in Crawford's life, or at least those who are still alive, Nagi is the one with every reason to hate him. Yet, he - 

//Getting nostalgic, Brad? Nags gotcha didn't he?//

Crawford stares at the small black and silver gadget in his hand for several moments, then finally puts it down. "He hated me."

//He loves you, you moron.//

Crawford stiffens.

//He hated you because you gave him no choice.// Laughter rings in the room. Schuldich gestures for Crawford to sit down again. //But he only needs to take one look at SS and Rosenkreuz to realise you already made the best choice for him. How can he hate you?//

Crawford's smile is almost bitter. "You know what I'm going to say."

//'Only fools believe in love'? That's why Nags didn't talk to you, you ridicule anything to do with love, even love for family and friends, but Nags so believes in it, man, just look at the way he looks at Tot. And he doesn't want you to call him an idiot.//

Schuldich crosses his arms behind his head and leans into the pillow, waiting for Crawford to digest his words. Crawford has always been slow when it comes to these things. It is not surprising though, love has always had a very low priority in his life. Or to be precise, there were so many other things that had priority over it. Like staying alive.

//Remember that time when we took Fujimiya Aya from the Schrient girls, and we left without him?//

Crawford nods. How can he forget? Nagi did not come home for three days, and when he did, he had Tot beside him, asking Schwarz to take her in. The look in his eyes said that he would not accept "no" for an answer, although Crawford had no idea what Nagi would do if she was rejected.

//He bluffed, that stupid kid. He already made his mind up to choose Schwarz over Tot.// Schuldich said with a grin. Back then, he chose not to tell Crawford what was on Nagi's mind and let things unfold themselves. It had been a correct decision. //He told me some emotional shit, something like we're his family, and a family's for life, he wouldn't let a girl ruin it all. He said you're like a big brother. But I think you're more like his daddy.//

Family? A family of an American, an Irish, a German and a Japanese? Nagi definitely has a sense of humour.

Yet, deep down, Crawford knows what Nagi meant. And he was ready to give up his first love for the twisted life his surrogate family provided.

"I'm like his dad?" Crawford repeats the words, pulling a face as he runs a hand through his black hair. "You have to be kidding."

//Yeah, I think you're his Bradley-daddy. Schwarz had definitely been his family...// Schuldich replies, his mind drifting off...

To Nagi, Schwarz had been his family.

To Schuldich, Schwarz had been the purpose of his life.

To Farfarello, Schwarz might had been his channel to internal peace.

What was Schwarz to Crawford? Not SS, not Rosenkreuz, but Schwarz? Had it been a cage? Had it been a burden? Had it been a regret? Schuldich never dared to ask.

Actually, why not ask? Schuldich shakes his head slightly, biting back a sigh. It has been so many years, he deserves the answer now, does he not? Yes, he will ask, when Crawford finishes his story. He will find a time to ask him.

Crawford's voice brings Schuldich focus back to the present again.

"We argued a lot over him." Crawford says, chuckling at the memory of himself and Schuldich disagreeing with each other just like...

//Like worried parents debating over which school to send their kid to and shit like that.//

"Rosenkreuz thought you and Farfarello would give me the most trouble, but it was definitely Nagi who had me on my toes."

//Yeah, who'd have imagined?//

* * *

It was a Monday when it all changed. Crawford was sure because he got home at around midnight that day, but Schuldich was still waiting for him to eat dinner together. They were eating Chinese when a vision came, without himself willing for one, and its shock and intensity made him choke on his egg fried rice.

The day prior, he had visited the Yokohama Penichua Church again, keeping the pressure up on Amamiya Kaoruko as he was instructed to. Amamiya's next killings were going to be Crawford's final job with the nun, since him and Schuldich had been assigned to be bodyguards to a politician SS had their eyes on.

He saw Naoe Nagi every time he entered that church, about twice a month for the six months since their first meeting. Over that time, the child's kitten had grown into a young cat, and Naoe himself had grown an inch taller and put on some weight, although he still looked a little sickly and on the thin side.

The conversations they had had almost always been one-way. The boy usually nodded or shook his head as an answer, with the occasional "yes" and "no" if Amamiya was present, as if to be more polite when the nun was watching. But after the third visit, Amamiya knew she had to leave the two alone, and Nagi had kept his silence since then.

Fear never left those large, blue eyes whenever they were laid on the American. It did not take Crawford long to understand that the boy was not afraid of _him_, but what he _represented_ - that he was indeed abnormal. Before, the child could push the idea away, but with Crawford standing before him, there was no denying the truth anymore.

Crawford talked to Nagi during those meetings, just anything that came to mind that seemed okay to tell the child. Sometimes he found nothing to talk about and he would sit in the room to read the newspaper. By the sixth month, he had succeeded in sitting on Nagi's bed to read whilst the child sat closeby to read the pages, feeling safe enough to be near the man. Crawford was not sure if it was because of Amamiya's counselling finally had some effects, or if it was the child just realising that he was not going to hurt him. He made a mental note to speak to the nun about Nagi again.

"Can you understand all the words?" Skimming through the sports pages, Crawford found himself still struggling with specialist phrases and kanji that were not derived from Chinese.

Naoe Nagi nodded, pointing at the picture of a footballer at the centre of the page. The headline said 'Nakata Hidetoshi leaves for Europe'. "I want to do that."

Crawford paused at the sudden statement. It was the first time the boy freely offered information about himself in order to start a conversation. "You want to be a footballer?"

"No. I just want to play."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, I know nothing about football. I know some other sports though."

Silence.

"I'll come again next week. See you." Crawford folded his paper and left it with Nagi, knowing the child liked to read. As he stepped out of the tiny room, he teased his brain for a vision. A brunette would offer to teach Nagi sports, and then disappoint him. "Don't be too hopeful about anything tomorrow." He told Nagi.

The child tensed. He must have felt the flow of energy. Whatever there was between the two of them that enabled the child to try to start a conversation earlier dissolved, and the fright returned to the blue eyes.

Bad move? The child would have to accept his abnormality sooner or later, anyway. But even aided by his clairvoyance, Crawford never expected the acceptance would be a violent struggle, which was exactly how it turned out to be.

Schuldich had laughed right out loud when Crawford choked on the rice, but he did put his food down and patted the elder man hard on the back to help him breathe again.

Once the specks of rice found the right way down his throat, Crawford stood. "We're going out, now."

The German blinked up at him several times, then followed, keeping his questions down until they were in the car. "Something going on?"

"We're getting our telekinetic. It's now or never."

When they reached the church, Naoe Nagi's power had already ran loose. Crawford felt the ground vibrating slightly beneath his feet, as if there was a minor earthquake. The church's structure complained noisily, and several roof tiles were shaken loose, breaking apart when they fell. They had at most two minutes to extract the boy from the building, or his powers would cause it to collapse and the child definitely would not survive.

Four shadows ran out of the church through the front door. Crawford knew it was a group which went by the name "Weiß". SS had passed him a file on that organisation when he was at the headquatres, and warned of their possible intervention on their job with Amamiya. But Amamiya had seen her final job tonight, and SS did not care - or in fact, welcomed - Weiß to kill her.

There were also children and teenagers running out of the church from every door, some screaming, some crying. But it was the boy who still remained in the dangerous church that mattered.

As expected, Amamiya Kaoruko's corpse laid on the wooden floor, the front of her simple dress soaked in blood. At the corner stood Nagi, his power running out of control, creating a whirlwind that began from around the corpse.

The precognitive was stuck on what to do. He got here in time, but there was no way he could walk into the church without serious injuries.

"Leave it to me." Schuldich offered, taking a small step forward so that he was through the front door. He did not move, but after two years of partnership, Crawford knew the telepath was speaking to Nagi silently. After half a minute, the shaking ceased, and Nagi turned towards them, acknowledging their presence.

"Come, this building's not safe now."

Nagi did not move. It took Schuldich some more mental nudging to make him follow Crawford's words. Crawford almost sighed in relief, silently glad that Schuldich was there to help him out. He drove, Schuldich sat with Nagi at the back, the child soon falling asleep from exhaustion. It was an amazing sight, the German half cradling the Japanese boy. So, so beautiful it was surreal. It took much will for Crawford to keep his eyes on the road and not the mirror.

//Now I see why you're so taken by "the church telekinetic"// Schuldich smiled, brushing strands of hair away from Nagi's sleeping face.

Crawford knew better than to reply.

* * *

//And so, we brought home a bomb...// The German shakes his head, smiling.

Seeing unspoken words, Crawford gestures for him to continue.

//Why did you bring Nagi home and not send him straight to Rosenkreuz?//

Crawford takes a moment to dissect the question. Why? Because he wanted to get to know Nagi before Rosenkreuz could. But...

//Because you liked Nagi? Brad, the collector of good looking things.//

Of course that had to do with it. But there was something far greater than that. "Because I had a vision of him without trying for one." Crawford breathes out slowly. "Whenever that happens, what is foretold will dictate the rest of my life, and whoever else that is involved."

The German taps his lips with two fingers. //Mmm. So I can safely say that your fate is tied with those you have visions about.//

Crawford almost voiced his denial right away. He never believed in fate, even though he knows the future. Particularly because he can foretell the future. He can avoid accidents, he can take people by surprise, he can change the outcome of events... Fate? What fate?

Then, was it fate that Schuldich had to die?

The blinding pain and shock he felt when that uncalled for vision of an aeroplane exploding mid-air are still so vivid now. And he simply cancelled his own upcoming flights, without even suspecting that it was that explosion that would kill the German. He had been warned. In fact, he had had so many chances to prevent that death, but in the end, he was the one who caused it by telling Schuldich to get out of his life.

Had that been fate? If it had, was that vision evidence that he would fail Schuldich and that failure would cost the German his life?

Why had he never, ever learned from his mistakes?

_"Brad... You never loved me did you?"_ Jamie's desperate plea, shaking fingers digging into his arms... his last question... knowing the answer, but still hoping beyond hope.

Why does his own selfishness always stabs back at him?

_"What have I done wrong, Crawford? ... Give me one reason why you hate me so much."_

Oh Gods, no, he had never hated Schuldich. Not even during their most heated arguements or coldest silent wars, hate had never been his feeling for the German. He could be shaking with rage, so angry that when Schuldich dared him to lash out, he almost did, but he had always valued the man and recognised his importance. It was just that, after SS, he no longer wanted anyone or anything to remind him of the eight years as SS' puppet, or of the expectations from his parents he had to live up to after Jamie and Harriet died. He did not want anyone to look up to or depend on him anymore. It was too much.

Schuldich's devotion, in particular, was too much. Crawford did not want, and did not feel he deserved, that devotion any longer. So he ran away like a coward after that final battle with SS, trying to forget the one man who trusted him from day one.

And by running away, he killed Schuldich, who he told himself to never hurt, having learned the lesson the hard way with Jamie.

He killed him, the only person in this world who never judged or asked for anything from him.

He killed him. He killed...

That cursed headache is returning.

//Brad?// Schuldich draws closer when Crawford pulls his knees up and buries his face in them, arms and hands holding his head. //You tired?//

The German can hear the way the other man consciously controlling his breathing and then after a while, Crawford mutters a reply, not trusting his own voice. //My head.//

Crawford only gets headaches when... Pulling himself closer, Schuldich tries to recall if it can be anything he just said that is causing this. But no, Crawford is not an emotional person, there has to be something else, something he had been holding back since the day he found him in this Liverpool hotel, and this "something else" is trying to break through the dam Crawford has created for it and is now struggling to repair.

Schuldich thinks he can remember what warmth feels like now, as he lays his face on the back of Crawford's neck and winds his arms around the man. He can remember what it feels like to be alive, the feeling of touch, of gentle breathing, of having a trembling person in his arms, of fear, of regret, of trembling, of wanting to cry but having no tears for it...

Schuldich bites his lower lip, suddenly aware that he is catching Crawford's feelings and emotions as the usual barrier between them is dropped unconsicouly by the older man. Schuldich accepts it, sharing his own calmness and helping his companion carry that overwhelming rush of pain.

Whatever had caused this moment to happen ceases to matter.

All that matters is that, for this moment, their feelings and emotions merge until there is no beginning or end, and two become one.

Schuldich allows himself a small smile when he realises that this is infinitely more intimate than making love.

[to be continued]

_Author's note: Crawford and Schuldich were good friends - does that idea irk anyone? It's their early years though, and it's going to change. Crawford will become more "anime Crawford-like", Schuldich will become wilder... there will be things to cause that change, and things that result from that change._

Crawford finds Nagi in the year 1998 in this fic. This means their ages are slightly out from the anime settings. But then again, the Weiss members stay at the same age all the way through the two animes and all the dramas... so everything is just a rough estimate I guess. Nakata Hidetoshi is a famous Japanese footballer who went to play for AC Perugia and is now playing for Parma AC ^^ (excuse me, I won't call myself a football fan but I do like watching it)

And before anyone begins to worry: no, the end of this fic won't be "Crawford imagined Schuldich's ghost because he feels guilty". Schuldich does exist. I would never, ever write that guilty imagination thing, so don't you worry about that at all.


	11. Part 11

**Blinded**

Part Eleven

In the past, during their cold wars, Schuldich would have jumped at the chance to read his leader's mind. But now, as the usually stronger-than-lead shield is dropped, Schuldich just cannot bring himself to enter Crawford's mind. He will be damned if he takes advantage of the moment.

It has not taken much time for Crawford to calm down, only a couple of minutes, but he shows no sign of wanting to move from his position right now, still curled up and resting his forehead on his knees. Gently, slowly, his mind begins to close off, mentally disconnecting him from Schuldich until the layer of black ice that had always separated their minds forms again securely around his thoughts. Strangely, it does not make him feel any safer. If anything, it is as though a layer of skin has been torn from him, leaving him more exposed and vunerable.

Despite his height and physique, Crawford seems so small in Schuldich's arms, like the child Nagi was when they first met. Schuldich did not know the boy's name, and had respected him enough, because of Crawford, not to pry it from his mind. During their journey home from Yokohama Penichua Church, Nagi had fallen asleep on Schuldich's lap, and immediately the German understood why Crawford was so taken by this boy - he had never guessed the telekinetic was a boy so young, so flawlessly beautiful, like a porcelain doll. Yet this nameless child was anything but weak, his telekinesis so immensely powerful it was enough to make Crawford reluctant to step into the church. Fragile yet unbreakable, what an interesting contradiction, Schuldich had marvelled. And eventually, he had come to learn that everything about Nagi Naoe - his desires, his love, his needs - are contradictions.

He caught Crawford glancing at the two of them using the back mirror, lips graced with a rare smile of satisfaction - he did not exactly see the smile, the mirror was too small for it, but he read it from Crawford's eyes.

Schuldich could not help but smile back at Crawford, through the mirror. //Now I see why you're so taken by "the church telekinetic"//

He could see it, the flicker of delight in those brown eyes before Crawford turned them back on the road. Schuldich returned to stroking the boy's hair, whilst humming to himself again. If Crawford liked this boy so much, Schuldich would learn to love him too.

It was that night he realised he had learned to read the American using only his eyes, something he had never bothered to do with anyone else.

On the other hand, out of trust and respect, as well as because it was too difficult a task for him, he had hardly ever bothered to try reading Crawford's mind, except during the crazy times when he was angry and frustrated with everything, particularly with himself. He wanted to know whatever the American was thinking, even though he was sure Crawford felt the same as he did, patience overwhelmed by frustration. That was why they had to take it out on each other, finding nowhere else to direct that anger at. It soothed them in one way, having someone to stand willingly on the sharp end of their hateful words, but it was all a temporary illusion, they were just letting the pain and frustration accumulate inside them, slowly and steadily destroying themselves and each other. Because they were too mature to scream and shout and break things in their rooms, they broke each other instead, clawing and tearing at their wounds until -

//Schuldich.//

It takes a moment for the German to realise Crawford has just spoken to him. Understanding the unvoiced request, he moves away from the other man's back, who begins to slowly uncurl himself, then gets off the bed to find something to drink.

//Well.// The redhead pats the bed once and stands up too. //Get some sleep, Brad, I'll see you tomorrow.//

No words about what happened just now. They both need some time to process things.

Crawford eyes the other man once, finishes his water, setting the crystal glass on a table gently before speaking. "Where are you going?"

Lifting his hands, Schuldich shrugs. //Not a clue.//

//Let me rephrase my question.// Crawford eyes him, his smile taking on an evil edge. //Where _can_ you go?//

Shaking his head and sighing, Schuldich drops back into the bed. Of course he wants to just stay here, because there is nowhere else he can go. He loves people, he thrives on attention, and Crawford is the only man who can provide this now. And Crawford knows this. It does take several years of knowing the American to see through the small insult though, to the invitation for him to stay - not that Schuldich is complaining at all.

"Besides, I'm not too tired." Crawford wants to finish his tale before the funeral on Monday. As memories poured out of him, he realised there is much more to tell than he had thought. He wants to recall everything, for Schuldich as well as for himself, and there are only several days left before Monday. Sleep becomes optional now. "I'm going to continue."

Schuldich props his head on a palm, the elbow resting on his knees. //You really don't think I might get bored do you?//

"Well are you?"

//Well, no.//

* * *

For his first night in the new home, Nagi slept in Crawford's room whilst the original occupant crashed in the couch downstairs.

Crawford had not expected to receive the boy so soon, but this was a fine time too, since they were in the limbo between one job and another. After spending several moments checking Nagi would not run away as soon as he woke up, Crawford allowed himself to rest.

He was sure his clairvoyance showed him a peaceful day, but it did not turn out how it was supposed to be from the moment he woke. Cracking his eyes open when he heard the floorboards squeak, he saw Naoe Nagi tiptoeing towards the front door. He jumped off the couch and grabbed the child by his shoulders.

For a boy his size, Nagi had put up a good fight. "Let go!"

"You have no place to go." Crawford told Nagi calmly, spinning the boy around so that he faced him. "Accept it. Accept your power. There is more for you than that church."

"You're not a normal person, but I am!" Nagi was completely overpowered by the man who was almost twice his age, but he thrashed about the best he could, trying to get away. "Let go of me! I want Sister!"

"She's dead!" Giving up, Crawford bent down and hooked an arm around the child's waist, lifting the boy off his feet.

As he dumped Nagi on the couch, Schuldich came running down the stairs. "The hell? He's up already?"

"No! I want Sister! She's the only person good to me! Sister!"

"She's dead! DEAD!"

Precognition did not warn him of this struggle. It surely did not warn him of Nagi throwing him and Schuldich towards the wall with his power, either. He was not sure how his spine stayed intact, but miraculously it did. Instead of using this opportunity to run straight to the door though, Nagi dashed into the kitchen and found himself an eight-inch knife.

Cursing, Schuldich was up on his feet before Crawford. "Are you absolutely sure you want this kid, Crawford?"

"Yes, if I don't have to go through this everyday."

The two of them blocked the front door. Nagi advanced, holding the knife with steady hands and pointing forwards. "I am normal. Sister loves me. I am normal. Let me leave now or I'll kill you both."

The knife was easy to deal with, but the resolve burning in Nagi's eyes made Crawford pause. Nagi knew what he was doing.

//He means it.// Schuldich whistled mentally.

//I know.// Crawford replied with a hint of a smile.

The German could not help but smile back. //I think I like him already.//

Nagi glared at the two of them, put off by Schuldich's smile. It was not degrading or mocking, but a genuine, soft smile that could sweep Crawford off his feet. Crawford caught the flicker in Nagi's eyes, and knew the child was affected by that smile as well. Shaking his head once, Nagi bit his lower lip, then his attention became focused on the task on hand again: get out of this place.

"LET. ME. LEAVE."

//How good are you with kids? It's going to take more than disarming him to win him over.// Beside him, Schuldich crossed his arms to show Nagi that he was not threatened by the knife at all. "We haven't hurt you, so why are you pointing that at us?"

Nagi ignored the redhead, continuing his advance. Not sure how to use his weapon, he lifted his knife up high above his head and slashed down, aiming at Schuldich's torso. The German's arms stayed crossed before his chest, unmoving and trusting. As expected, Crawford caught the arm easily and twisted it, forcing Nagi to drop his weapon.

When the second burst of power pushed him to take a step back, Crawford debated briefly in his mind whether his life was just not made for working with telekinetics.

//If he's going to do what he did in that church last night, I'm not sure it's safe to keep him here.// Schuldich stepped forward and helped Crawford hold Nagi down, then the two of them took the kicking and screaming boy upstairs, into Schuldich's room. //And if he doesn't stop screaming right now, our neighbours will think there's child abuse going on here.//

//So what do you suggest?// Crawford asked as they dumped Nagi into the bed as gently as they could.

//Make an agreement with him. Give him a choice.//

What agreement could Crawford make with Nagi? What would be the one realistic thing that Nagi may want?

"What if I say I can help you control your power, so that what happened with your mother won't be repeated?"

That did it. Nagi's fighting ceased. Large, blue eyes became unfocused for a moment. "My mother..."

"Give me a week. If you don't want to be here after a week, then leave."

There was no reason for Nagi to trust him, but after a moment, he nodded. Seeing the way he glanced between him and Schuldich, there might had been silent words between the child and the telepath had convinced him. In fact, a silent conversation between them had begun, and Crawford left the two of them alone in the room.

After that morning, Nagi had glued himself to Schuldich. Besides living up to his end of the deal by teaching Nagi how to control his telekinesis by strength of will, like all other powers, Crawford did nothing special to convince the child to stay.

Nagi slept in Schuldich's room, the two of them sharing a single bed. Crawford suggested they buy another bed to put into the bedroom, but Schuldich disagreed.

"I think he likes my bed, Crawford." Schuldich shrugged, smiling. "If he wants his own, he'll ask for one."

"You seem to know him quite well already." Crawford said, sipping tea from a mug.

"We talk."

"I'm not aware he actually talks very much."

Schuldich joined Crawford on the couch. "I used to do some babysitting. Didn't get enough lunch money from home, see. I know how to talk to kids." Turning towards the taller man, Schuldich grinned. "And since you made a pact with him, I did too."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

Crawford was very sure he did not like that mischievous grin on the German's face.

It was the last day of the one-week period. Schuldich took Nagi out, driving Crawford's car since the German had finally learned how to drive. With no car to use, Crawford took the bus back to the Yokohama Penichua Church, now fenced off by the authorities because of danger of collapse, went inside without being noticed and found something he was looking for, in case Nagi decided to stay. It was stupid, but hopefully it would make the child happy - Nagi had never smiled at him, ever since they first met over six months ago. Laughter was out of the question. Nagi's face was so blank, expressionless like an exquisite china doll, making him hauntingly beautiful. Despite that, Crawford wanted to see him smile. He could imagine how beautiful it would be, and he had to see it no matter what. Afterall, if there was only one thing that could motivate him to do anything, it was to see and obtain beautiful things. It was the one obsession he allowed to take over rational thinking.

He hoped Nagi would stay. But if the child wanted to leave, Crawford would not stop him. The last thing he wanted was to force the telekinetic to stay with them, and besides, the Plan could not work if the telekinetic was not completely on their side.

Losing the boy, though, would be painful. Those amazingly blue eyes, that chocolate-brown hair, that formidable beauty... Crawford could not imagine parting with that. Sometimes when Schuldich slept with his door open, Crawford would stand in the doorway to watch Nagi curled up towards the blonde, Schuldich draping a hand on Nagi's little body, his long blonde hair spreading on the pillow... they created a heartbreakingly beautiful picture that could make Crawford feel dizzy.

It was past dinner time when Schuldich and Nagi came back to the house.

"Something wrong?" Crawford turned off the television, studying the look on their faces. He would bet all his wealth that something was wrong.

"Sorry Crawford, we er..." Schuldich looked down on his feet, long white-blonde hair tumbling forward to hide his eyes. "We wrecked your car."

Unable to stop himself, Crawford was on his feet and rushing over to them before he knew what he was doing. "Are you hurt?"

Schuldich shook his head, and Crawford turned his attention to Nagi. "You okay?" Crouching down, he held Nagi's chin and turned the face towards him. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

There were no bruises or cuts, but there could be internal injuries. How did they manage to crash anyway? Of course Schuldich did not have a driving license, but he learned driving from Crawford and he was sure the German was competant so he never worried when Schuldich borrowed his car. And he did not foresee any accidents for today...

When Nagi refused to look at him in the eye, Crawford looked up at Schuldich, lifting one wary eyebrow. His suspicions were confirmed when Schuldich winked at him playfully.

"Very funny." And to think he actually fell for it. Crawford got up and walked away before he looked even more a fool than he had already been. If Nagi was going to stay, the pair of them better not pull any more of these tricks!

"See!" Schuldich ruffled Nagi's hair. "We are more important than his limited-edition sports car! I win!"

With the first smile Crawford had seen that graced the boy's lips, Nagi nodded. "Yes, you win."

If that was a test they set to see if Crawford would pass, then the American was glad he acted on impulse just now rather than reasoning that if they were hurt, they would not be standing there.

As the pair retreated upstairs, Crawford remembered what he took from the church. "I brought - "

"My name is Naoe Nagi. You can call me Nagi." The boy stopped at the foot of the stairs and cut him off mid-sentence.

Finally the boy gave them his name. He was going to stay. A weight inside Crawford that he was not aware of was lifted. He did not know he wanted Nagi to stay so much until this moment - he almost felt like walking over and hugging the boy.

"Nice to meet you, Nagi. I'm - "

"Brad Crawford. You told me when we first met." Nagi's voice was gentle and inoffensive.

"Nagi." The American could not help but smile. Nagi was a very smart boy indeed. "I got you something. It's upstairs in your room."

* * *

//I told Nags that he would _want_ to stay by the end of the week, and that I'd prove to him you cared more about him than his powers. I told him if I was wrong, I'd leave with him.//

"That was your pact with him?"

//Yup.//

"So sure of yourself, weren't you."

//Nope, I was sure about you.//

Crawford had risked losing both of them without knowing it. He laughs dryly. "What changed his mind then?"

//The main difference between life outside and life with us was that we treated him as a real person.// Schuldich plays with his red hair, rocking himself back and forth on the bed. //Actually, why don't you ask Nags yourself on Monday?//

_//You won't want to leave by the end of the week.//_

//Why?// Nagi did not like speaking, but once he learned how use telepathy with Schuldich, he had no objection using it.

Schuldich glanced as Crawford once as the American left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. //Because I don't want to leave since the moment I met him. And I promise you, you'll feel the same.// He said, stressing the word "promise", a word with significant power when used on children.

But Nagi did not easily fall for it. //Or what? I dare you put your life on this one.//

//Vicious, aren't you?// The German chuckled. //I'll prove to you you're worth more to him than your powers. If I'm wrong, I'll leave him with you.//

//That's not a powerful promise at all.//

//It'll hurt me more than death to leave him. I can't prove this to you, you'll just have to trust me on this one.//

That time he found Crawford in London, he really should not have ran away to Farfarello. He remembers, during that split second the bomb went off and he knew he was going to die, he thought this was his price to pay for running away, this was prove that it hurt more than death to leave Crawford. That moment when death claimed him, he reminded himself to tell Nagi that he had finally proved it.

It was strange, the type of things that came to mind at a man's last moments. He thought about never being able to pay Farfarello back for the plane ticket; He thought it was a shame that his spot in the graveyard would be wasted since there would be no body to be buried in it; He thought about the turning point of his life, when one American man appeared and told him to go with him; He thought about the games on the dance machine with Nagi; He thought about Schwarz's final battle with the SS, when a blood-covered Crawford smiled triumphantly at him, a hand pressing down on life-threatening wounds; He thought about the time when he said to Farfarello he wanted to be the first one to die in Schwarz, and his death would be spectacular.

And he thought, well it was rather spectacular, like big, bright fireworks in the sky. It was just a shame Crawford was not there to watch. What he would give to see the look on Crawford's face!

Schuldich had never, ever guessed Crawford would react the way he did though.

//So, what are you going to do after Monday? Go with Nagi, or go on your own?// Schuldich closes his eyes and lays down on the bed. //Can you see it, mister precog?//

Crawford shakes his head, sinking further into the bed. "There's a key decision that needs to be made before the end of Monday. Without it, things can spin in every direction."

//What key decision?//

"It's going to affect every decision that I make after Monday. But I can't see what it is. Something else more powerful is controlling it."

//Oh. Like someone with a stronger willpower? Are you worried?//

"No. It's not worth worrying about. I'll take things as they come."

//That's very uncharacteristic for a precog to say.//

"I know." Crawford replies, turning his face towards the German, whose eyes remain closed. "It's also the only thing I can say when it's out of my control."

//And in the past, everything was in your control.//

"Almost everything."

//Was life ever boring for you then?//

"There were always you and Nagi to keep me entertained, weren't there?"

//True.// A chuckle. //But how about now?//

Crawford gives Schuldich a flitting glance, then closes his eyes too. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

//Go talk with Nags and Farfie, Brad.// Schuldich mutters, aware that Crawford had once made the decision to leave, and he probably will do it again after the funeral, for the same reasons he had four years ago, the reasons Schuldich has yet to find out. //Life won't ever be boring with them.//

After a few moments of no reply from the American, Schuldich turns on his side, thinking Crawford's mind has wandered off. //Brad?//

He smiles and moves closer to Crawford, draping a protective arm on the man the way he did to Nagi when Nagi used to sleep in his bed. The precognitive has fallen asleep.

[to be continued]

_Author's note: Crawford was a lot more human in the past. "Human" is the only word I can think of now, but it doesn't really describe it. I'll come back to this one later._

Crawford is changing as he tells his story. I'm sure everyone notices that. It's happening earlier than I originally planned though. Ouch. This fic is running out of hand again.

The fic is going at a very fast pace. Almost every chapter has enough material for at least one stand-alone fic, but that will drag [Blinded] on until eternity. I guess [Blinded] (and its predecessors) are the outline of my Schwarz universe. (okay not mine but you get what I mean) Every Schwarz fic I write in the future will undoubtly spring from some part in [Blinded], latching on to one event and exploring it in depth.

This fic has been going on for 2 months now, I have a feeling it'll take almost a year to finish, but the side stories/other fics in the same universe will be coming out parallel to this fic, which is quite strange for me because I always only write one thing at a time. But when the stories compliment each other I guess I can give it a go. Let's hope for the best...


	12. Part 12

**Blinded**

Part Twelve

Schuldich lays on the bed, facing Crawford's back and the window. He glances at the clock nearby to read the flashing digital numbers - 1:53. Crawford must be tired, he is getting into his ninth hour of sleep. He is going to wake anytime now, and Schuldich makes a mental note to move away when he does. There is no way in hell Crawford will tolerate the knowledge of being held like this.

It has occured to Schuldich that Crawford might not have slept this way for a long time, with another person - or any sort of presence - in the same bed. In the past years, Crawford has never brought anyone home, and neither had any of Schwarz, with the exception of Tot walking through their front door once, and that Sally woman Farfarello found. Schuldich has his own theory on why it was like that. For him, it was because he did not want anyone to step into his holy place. For Farfarello, his one and only woman that mattered was Sally, who he took off with. And whatever Nagi wanted to do did not matter, because Crawford made another plans for Tot after that stand-off between him and Nagi over the girl.

As for Crawford, he had always been that way since he was in high school, never finding anyone worthwhile enough to bring home. But there seems to be more to it. Crawford seems to like sleeping alone. Maybe this makes him rest better. Or maybe he just does not like having a warm body next to him. So Schwarz or no Schwarz, he would never let anyone into his bed.

//And being the loveless bastard you are,// Schuldich almost laughed, imagining the scene, //you must be the type to dress and leave straight after sex.//

//That is correct.// The amused and unexpected reply almost makes Schuldich jump. //But where did that comment come from?//

//Nowhere.// The German chuckles softly, and begins to move away. //How long have you been awake?//

//Half an hour perhaps. Don't move.//

Schuldich freezes mid-action, blinks in surprise, then smiles and settles back into where he was.

//Is hair rising at the back of your neck? Is it cold - you know, like those ghost movies?// Schuldich asks. //Can you actually feel anything? What does this feel like?//

It takes a moment for Crawford to decide to answer the questions, his eyes still closed and body relaxed on the bed, not moving at all. //No. No. Yes and...// He trails off, intending to leave the last question unanswered, then changes his mind. //It's just comfortable.//

Schuldich sighs, disappointed in the simple answers but still pleasantly surprised that Crawford has bothered to answer at all. He tightens the arm he has draped over the other man so that it wraps around the waist, and sees Crawford stiffening up, then relaxing after a while, settling into a more comfortable position. He lets out a long breath as if he has finally indulged in something he has forbid himself from for a long time.

They stay like that for another few minutes until Schuldich breaks the silence again.

//Brad?// He pauses, waiting for a response and receiving none. He continues anyway, knowing Crawford is listening. //Are you lonely?//

Is he lonely?

Crawford finds himself chuckling at the question. Who cares if he is lonely or not? How does it matter to anyone, or even to himself? //Why?// If that question touched any nerves, the American is not showing it.

//I was asking you last night if life was boring for you without Nags and I entertaining you. You fell asleep without a reply.//

//You aren't supposed to chase it up.// Crawford tries to turn his head around to cast the telepath a look. //Besides, boredom and loneliness are completely different things.//

//I know. But...// Schuldich just wants to know. Crawford likes solitude, that is an undeniable fact, but watching him sleep, and realising he has stayed quiet after waking just to be held like this, even requesting Schuldich not to move, the German just cannot help but think... //You know what, Brad? I think you need a woman.//

//You're being very random today, Schuldich.//

//I know, but I'm serious. Go find someone who'll hold you like this every day.// Schuldich's arm tightens for a brief moment. //Someone who'll do anything you ask and will let you screw her senseless whenever you feel like it - although you might have to marry her.// He laughs.

Crawford tries to sound serious but fails. //You mean a female version of you?//

That is true. Schuldich shakes his head in this realisation. //I'm serious, Brad. You don't even have to love her. Just make sure she loves you. And then maybe go forth and multiply.//

//Your point being...?//

//Look at Farfie and Nags. That's what people do to stay un-lonely. That's what people do to find someone to hold them everyday, to stop themselves from falling apart.//

//You think I need that.// Crawford says flatly. What is Schuldich trying to point out? That he is weak like everyone else and in need of comfort? Just because he realised it feels good to be in the bed like this?

//I don't know. But...// Schuldich presses his forehead into the back of Crawford's neck. //I'll stay with you like this for as long as you want, but it won't last, Brad.//

It will not last, because Crawford will be the one to let go first. Schuldich knows this.

//I'm just having a lie-in. Don't look too deep into it.//

//You're getting less and less like the Brad Crawford I used to know.// The German whispers, ignoring Crawford's comment. //Since coming back from Berlin... or maybe you've been changing since you left Schwarz. I don't know. But you're scaring me. In the past you'd never let me touch you like this.//

//... Like I said, it's just comfortable.// Crawford patiently explains. //Hot showers, sex, chocolates, jazz. Anything that I enjoy, I take my time in it. I've done this all my life. I'm not any different from how I used to be.//

Silence stretches over them again, each trying to decipher the other's words and actions.

//Schuldich?//

//Hm?//

//This _is_ comfortable.//

//This really feels good?//

//I'm starting to see why Nagi liked sleeping in your bed so much.//

//Really?//

//Really.//

//I'm flattered.//

* * *

Nagi settled into his new home with amazing speed. Having spent his life always moving to new places, passing from one social authority to another, he had became very adaptable to new environments.

It was Schuldich who did not take it well. He went on his second hunger strike. If Crawford knew it was because of an additional paranormal in the house, he would have removed Nagi from Schuldich's bedroom, but it was not until another two years later, when he and Schuldich were stranded in the suburb after taking Farfarello back to the asylum, that the German finally let out the truth.

"Just leave me alone, Crawford, I need the hunger." Schuldich remained on the bed after eating even less than Nagi did at dinner. It had ran into the second week already, and the stress became evident on Schuldich's pale, tired face. Even his blonde hair seemed to have lost its luster.

"How are you going to stay sane if you have no energy?"

"This isn't like a physical illness, so don't put logic in it that way. I can't explain to you, okay?"

Crawford stood in the doorway, doing his best to achieve balance between keeping Schuldich sane and getting food down his throat. Nagi stood between the two of them, glancing back and forth, not understanding a word of English that passed between them. They did their best to use Japanese in the house, making sure Nagi would correct them whenever they had problems with the language, but at times like this, it was better that the boy knew as little as possible.

"Is there no other way?"

"Physical pain does it as well." Schuldich actually thought it was funny he laughed. "A good fuck, also. But how long does a fuck last? That's how long it can distract me. Hunger is much easier to control." He paused, then added, his tone turning solemn. "Just remember, Crawford, I'm not trying to kill myself."

Of course he knew that. "Nagi." He turned to the boy. "Watch Schuldich. If anything seems wrong, come and tell me."

Nagi nodded, switched the light off and went to bed. Crawford showered and went to bed himself, drifting in and out of sleep for the next half hour.

//It's getting a little crowded here.//

Crawford turned around in his bed, spending a moment deciding if he had just been dreaming or if Schuldich just spoke to him. //The cat's on your bed again?//

//If I'm not careful, I might kick it off the bed. But what can I do, it likes sleeping with Nagi, and Nagi likes my bed.// The German said, laughing a little inside his head. //It's good you found the cat in the church though, Nagi was worried sick about it.//

//He was?//

//He didn't show it, but yeah. Now we have a very happy kid living with us.//

//I take it you like children.//

//No... I actually hate kids. But there are always exceptions.// Schuldich sighed contentedly. Crawford could imagine him stroking Nagi's hair again. //Nagi's probably turning us into paedophiles.//

Crawford paused before his reply, said with a fair amount of disgust. //Us?//

//Don't tell me you don't love this kid. I'm not blind you know.//

Love?

After practically murdering his family, who he knew had loved him more than anything in the world, Crawford would consider himself immune to such a fool's emotion that inevitably brings downfall by weakening the soul. And there Schuldich was, saying that he obviously loved Nagi.

Looking back, it was a blatant denial that Schuldich must have saw through straight away, but at that time he believed his own reply, seeing what Schuldich had just said as the single worst insult he had ever received. //If that is what you saw, then you probably are blind.//

//Crawf -//

* * *

//Bastard. You didn't talk to me for the next couple of days.//

"You deserved it."

//I _so_ didn't! I was right! Or is it that speech again? "Only fools believe in love"?//

"I care about Nagi, but won't go so far to say I love him, so you're still wrong."

//No way. You love him, Bradley-daddy. And you love him so much you went back to the church to find him that cat just because it might make him happier.//

"Are we going to keep debating on this, or shall I continue?"

//Che. Go on then, Bradley-daddy.//

* * *

Not having told SS about discovering Naoe Nagi, what happened to the child's family remained a mystery. That was, until the Japanese boy decided to tell Schuldich what really happened - or at least what he thought had happened when he was merely three-years old.

Schuldich made sure Crawford was aware of this. He also made sure Crawford knew he would not tell him anything from that conversation, getting his own back after the punishing silence of the last few days.

"Do what you want." Crawford waved a dismissive hand when Schuldich told him this, not allowing the German to win by giving in to curiosity. "I'm sending him to Rosenkreuz on Friday."

"Friday? It's already Monday today!" Schuldich stood, knocking over his stool. "Have you even told him what Rosenkreuz is? Why don't you even tell me when you plan these things?!" He demanded, "Just because I said a few wrong words, huh?"

Suddenly, Schuldich's hands reached for the table before him. Slowly he sank until he was crouching, hands still grasping on the edge of the wooden furniture. It was low blood sugar induced dizziness because the man had not eaten nearly enough. Crawford walked over to the German, offering a helping hand, which Schuldich accepted, ending the four-day stalemate between them.

"Look, Crawford, I'm sorry for what I said, I didn't know you already have a secret child - " Schuldich grinned when the American shot a look at him. "But next time just please let me know when you do things like that."

"It was my decision. I asked to go."

Both men turned when Nagi stepped into the kitchen, the grey tabby in his arms, making the already small kitchen crowded. The child had been living with them for three weeks now, and Crawford had spend some time telling Nagi the truth of who they were, and what he wanted Nagi to do. Learning the trick from Schuldich, he gave Nagi the choice about Rosenkreuz.

To Crawford's surprise, Nagi requested to go there as soon as possible.

"Crawford's vision said I should go on Friday." Nagi explained to Schldich, still pronouncing Crawford's name in a slightly Japanese way, "Kurofo-do". Deciding that "Krawford" sounded better than "Kurofo-do", Crawford wondered if everyone he worked with in this team would have problems with his name.

"But - "

"Please don't blame him, it's more my decision than his." Nagi's voice was quiet, but it always drew attention whenever the boy spoke. Perhaps it was because it was so quiet it was special and penetrating. It never demanded to be listened to.

Crawford could tell Schuldich had his questions. Maybe to check if Nagi knew what he was getting himself into. But glancing between the child and him, the German decided to place his trust in the pair, and asked something else instead. "So are we all going together, or just the two of you?"

Crawford closed his eyes to focus on the vision coming forth.

_They were taking Schuldich to the laboratory. He reasoned with the medics, somehow knowing that staying in this place did more damage to the telepath than good, but they wanted this opportunity to do some tests and -_

He was not himself. Voices. Millions of them, whispering, crying, shouting, calling... they all rung inside his head. Shut up shut up shut up... It made him want to tear his own skin off, and smash his brain into an unrecognisable pulp. White cloaked arms reached out, leading him towards the bed. He hated the bed more than he hated the voices. He saw himself - Crawford - having a verbal battle with the supervisors. He wanted to vanish so that no one would see him.

"You can't go." Crawford ended the vision, slightly terrified at the way he could feel Schuldich's despair at the voices and the medics. It was the first time his vision came from a different person's point of view. Outwardly he remained composed. "I'll make sure Nagi settles in, then come back with the next job, hopefully."

"I guess that's a good idea. My muscles really need some stretching. Been waiting forever for that politician job."

"Please feed Brad for me whilst I'm gone."

"Sure, Nagi."

Narrowing his eyes at the mention of the name, Crawford spoke. "What?"

"Brad. It's the cat's name."

It was one of those rare moments when Nagi grinned the same way Schuldich always did, but Crawford did not find what he said very amusing at all. Beside him, Schuldich was close to giggling, seeing the look on the American's face.

"Well then," Schuldich ushered Nagi out of the kitchen, away from Crawford's annoyed gaze, heading upstairs. "Let's get you some mind training so that you can block out the others when you get there."

//Crawford, how long are you guys going to stay there for?//

//If I can rush Nagi through the training in two months, I'll stay at the HQ during that time. Otherwise I'll come back first.//

//Two months?! No way, I was there for three years! Don't stay there too long, I'm going to be lone~ly!//

//Go play with the cat.//

//Oh okay, I'll play with Brad.//

Crawford eyed the German. The arm draping across his shoulders had been there ever since they entered the airport, and after the short lunch stop at the cafe, it was there again, casually touching Crawford like they were the best of friends.

Following Crawford's gaze, Schuldich looked down at his right arm, then up again at Crawford, and just smiled.

Whatever Crawford was going to say died in his throat.

Schuldich walked on, a hand holding Nagi's travel bag. Nagi walked in front of them, even though this was his first visit to an airport. "It's your first flight, hm? Maybe we should buy some pills, you might get travel sickness." The blonde suggested.

Nagi stopped in his tracks. "I'll be fine."

"He'll be fine." Crawford echoed, knowing that as a fact from his vision. "Let's go."

//Schuldich, you'll be okay?//

//You mean my head? Yeah I'll be fine.//

Having had a brief glimpse of how Schuldich might be feeling everyday through his vision, Crawford glared at the German for trying to make the issue seem less than what it really was. Schuldich had always been a strange one, exaggerating the trivial and playing down what Crawford considered to be important.

//I'll eat, I promise you. I won't kill myself.//

Schuldich handed Nagi's bag over to the personell, then watched as the two boarded the private jet. Secretly Crawford was glad that business had started to pick up again for SS, for he hated the idea of being stuck in business class - or worse still, economy - in a long haul flight. This splash of cash may even mean he may get the separate apartments he had asked for...

"Crawford," Nagi put his elbow on the armrest and propped his chin up, watching the skyline as the jet moved towards the runway. "I don't like you."

The American glanced at the thirteen-years old boy, and saw within that body the mind of a young man. Nagi was different when Schuldich was not around. He was more vicious, vengeful, and brutally honest with Crawford when Schuldich could not hear them. It was because, as the boy said, he did not like the American.

"But you can only get what you want through me." It was a statement, not a threat or blackmail. Crawford knew the Japanese boy wanted revenge for what was done to his Sister. He saw Rosenkreuz as the place where he could become stronger, where he could learn to fight.

"I know." Nagi's breath caught has the jet sped up, then took off. "I have another reason to go to Rosenkreuz."

"I'm all ears when you want to tell me."

They were gaining height fast. For a moment, Nagi acted his age and pressed his palms on the window, stunned by the night scene of Yokohama from above.

"Farewell to Japan and everything. When we arrive on the other side, you'll meet your colleagues, Nagi."

That prompted Nagi on why he was in the jet.

"I won't forgive you... you've betrayed me, Ken." Losing the childlike expression, he said something that Crawford was determined not to let happen.

"I'll kill you, Weiß!"

* * *

//I kind of knew Nagi was a bit two-faced in the beginning.// Schuldich's brows furrow. //Just not that much. Didn't know he told you he didn't like you, right in your face.//

"He wasn't two-faced. He was just confused."

//I guess you're right. Nags was always confused... he thought he hated you, but he didn't really. You know when we said we crashed your car... he was so happy when he knew he was important to you.// Schuldich snakes a hand up to play with Crawford's hair, wondering when the American will tell him off for doing it. It is fun, just waiting for him to go mad. //He changed after going to Rosenkreuz. I think he's the only person who changed in a good way after going there. So much more confidence, control, and the like. _And_ he ended up liking you a lot.//

Crawford chuckles softly. "I didn't notice."

Schuldich twirls black hair with his fingers. //I noticed something though. It's not just Weiß you didn't let Nagi kill. You never let him kill anybody.//

"There was no need to." Crawford lifts a hand to swat Schuldich's fingers away from his hair. "I imagined he'd still be very young when it was all over. He'd spend many years looking over his shoulder worrying if anyone has found out who he is and how many he killed."

//And so, to preserve his innocence, you didn't let his hands touch blood?//

"If you must put it that way."

//How sweet of you. So my innocence isn't worth shit to you?//

"You already killed before we met in Hamburg." Crawford smirks. "Nice try."

Schuldich settles his arm around Crawford's middle again, smiling against the man's neck. //So... what happened in Rosenkreuz?//

"I went looking for Nik..."

[to be continued]


	13. Part 13

_Some people asked me who "Nik" was. "Nik", who Crawford mentioned at the end of the last chapter, is Niklas Neumann :)_

Part Thirteen already, and Schwarz is *just* starting to take shape. Whenever I think about this I get a sinking feeling that I'll never finish the fic. Wish me luck.

**Blinded**

Part Thirteen

"Job and agent number please?"

"Job 17624JP. Agent 003229."

"Hold a second please."

Over the telephone, Crawford could faintly hear some typing noise, and then the secretary came on again, his voice polite yet cold. "Agent B. Crawford, you wish to have a meeting with Councilman Neumann?"

Crawford frowned. In the past he never had to go through these procedures just to see Neumann. He _worked_ with that telepath. But now he was part of the Council, and this formality could not be skipped. "Yes."

"Your job is not directly related to the Councilman. He will not be available to see you within the next fourteen days. If you still wish to arrange - " The man paused for several moments. "I just received instructions from the Councilman. He will contact you personally at the appropriate time."

"I see. Thank you very much."

Replacing the phone on its handset, Crawford took off his newly acquired glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Despite travelling in a private jet, the long journey had worn him out considerably, and he hated the location of Rosenkreuz - buried deep under the Bavarian Alps. He hated rooms with no windows.

In general, he hated it all, and being there, even though they provided him with a room reserved solely for fully-fledged agents, was suffocating.

Crawford decided to go check on Nagi. The staff had already taken blood samples, but the other tests that would determine Nagi's training programme had to be left until the next morning, so they gave the child a temporary room close to Crawford's for the night. Crawford walked to the room just further down the corridor to find the door open, and Nagi sitting on the floor, sorting the contents of his travel bag.

"Are you hungry? You didn't have dinner."

Nagi looked up at him, shaking his head. Crawford shrugged. He never had much appetite after long flights, either.

"Someone came after they took my blood samples. Left just now."

"I thought they were leaving other tests until tomorrow."

"He just sat down and talked for a while." Taking out his pyjamas, Nagi zipped the bag and tucked it neatly under the bed. "He left you a note, it's on the table."

Curious, Crawford picked up a folded piece of paper from the desk. The handwriting was messy, but had a grace to it. The ink was still wet in places.

_Brad,_

You have found a lovely child. Please leave him to me, I'll arrange the best for him. He'll be ready in two months.

Nagi doesn't know much, and Schuldich had done a marvellous job training him to shield his mind, given he only had a few days. But I do have vague ideas on what you're planning to do. Please don't let me be right. The stakes are too high and the odds are piled against you.

I do know what I say about it will not change your mind, though. I know also there is no need to tell you to be careful with the choices you make.

No matter what you may do in the future, I shall be on your side. Remember this.

Yours always,  
N.  
ps. you look good with those glasses.

Crawford was breathing hard. "He just left?"

"Yes. Didn't even close the door."

The American turned on his heels and walked out, going down the corridor briskly. It was silent except for the sounds of his own steps. He turned at the end of the corridor to another line of rooms. Empty.

He bit his lips in frustration. Ever since leaving the team, Neumann seemed to have avoided meeting him face to face. He must have known Crawford was just several rooms down the corridor, he most probably even looked in without Crawford's awareness, yet he chose to leave a note instead, and Crawford wanted to know why.

Standing in the empty corridor, Crawford suddenly felt the soft tendrils of Neumann's power entering his mind.

There were no words. It was empathy, conveying Neumann's greeting, kindness, and unconditional support, all sent with a smile.

Catching the source of the power, Crawford sent a smile back at his friend. There was no reply, but he was sure Neumann received it.

When Neumann promised the best, he meant the best. Crawford read Nagi's programme and could not be satisfied better. It was going to be tough on the boy, but he would have the best trainers and if he could keep up with the programme, he would be equipped with the essential survival skills within the next two months. All the other "normal" schooling would have to be done some other time - Crawford toyed with the idea of sending Nagi to a normal school in Japan, but he had to discuss this with SS and Schuldich first, in case the German say again that Crawford never planned anything with him.

For the most part of those two months, Crawford spent his time in an intensive Japanese course and in what Schuldich would call "ass-licking", an essential part to the success of his Plan. Gaining the trust of the Elders, he had finally been informed on SS' plan in Japan.

World domination and resurrection of an old leader. It was so much like the cartoons Crawford used to watch when he was eight and was still called Brad.

Crawford's team was not the only team in Japan. SS had located teams with all candidates of the upcoming Prime Minister election, as well as other politicians and high commanders they believed to be useful in the future. Each of these people think they were special, being endorsed and looked over by SS, and would not let anyone else know about their deal with SS. Little did they know that was what was happening to every one of them.

So, in one way or another, SS would have Japan.

Crawford was to form a team assigned to one Takatori Reiji, and the team was to assist the man in his political career, but at no cost to other teams who backed the other politicians - there was no point for them to go against each other. Should this Takatori come to power, Crawford's team was to help him gain control of Japan at all cost.

Schuldich had been assigned to Crawford as a team member as the two worked well together. For a third member, Crawford requested to have Naoe Nagi. That caused some disagreement from the Council, but the request was eventually granted, under the condition that the Japanese boy's performance in his current training was approved of by them.

"So we have a three-men team. Me like."

Despite being on the other side of the globe, Crawford thought he could see the smile on Schuldich's face. "They want us to pick a team name."

"Ummmm... we'll settle on a name later. Nagi should get to have a say too. Anyway, how's he doing?"

"He seems to be enjoying it."

"That must be a first for Rosenkreuz."

"Perhaps. How about you?"

"You mean my head? It's good. No more voices." Schuldich replied. "You?"

Crawford knew Schuldich meant the question in a non-business way, but intimate or friendly talks within SS was not the best idea. It meant exposing a weakness. "They're having some problems catching a paranormal, so I'm sent to help. It'll take two weeks. Then Nagi will finish his training."

Schuldich understood the coldness and did not take it offensively. "Then you'll come back together. How nice you have the future planned out."

"I can't see that far accurately, Schuldich. It's a rough estimate."

* * *

//I know. But come back quick, I'm so bored my hair's turning green. I miss you guys.// Schuldich mumbles. Funny how the mind works. He can remember every single word he had said or heard as Crawford recalled the past, together with his feelings, the way he played with the extendable receptor of the cordless phone during that conversation, wondering how Crawford would react to his new hair colour...

"Yes, you said that." Crawford smiles. "You sounded very, very bored. I didn't think your hair literally turned green though."

Room service has arrived, and the American finally gets off the bed to have lunch. Leaning on the dining table, Schuldich counts the pieces of sushi on the plate. Twenty, plus a tempura handroll. Whilst it looks a lot, Crawford has always eaten more than Schuldich did. If it is necessary because of his precognition's strain, or because he is actually quite a tall man and generally needs more food to sustain himself, Schuldich cannot be sure. He suspects it has to do with his precognition. Nagi and himself both had the tendency to consume more after overusing their powers. One honestly cannot say that precognition is not as stressful to the body as telekinesis or telepathy.

//You never told me what you thought about the green.//

//I told you it was shocking.// Crawford opts for telepathy instead, not wanting to talk with his mouth full. //Like it's been chlorinated.//

//I mean you didn't say if it looked good or not.//

//... It wasn't bad.//

//You preferred blonde.// Schuldich smiles smugly. //That's exactly why I dyed it.//

An exasperated sigh. //I know.//

Crawford suspected it the day he saw that green hair that it was Schuldich's way of expressing his displeasure. The second time round, when the hair changed to red, it confirmed Crawford's suspicions that Schuldich was taking it out in a way that cannot be covered-up or ignored. It was a strange route of expression and protest, but at least much better than what some other people may do: scream and cry, complete disobedience, self-mutilation, just to name a few common methods.

//I know you know. Just want to point it out anyway.//

Schuldich pushed himself off the dining table to let his companion eat without distraction. What did, or what does, Crawford really think about his hair? Not really his hair, but what his actions reflected? Schuldich himself cannot really say why he did what he did - there were so many other things, apart from dyeing his hair, he could do to annoy Crawford.

Or did he really want to annoy him?

The German shakes his head gently, smiling. Perhaps he does know what he intended to achieve. He was trying to gain attention. Like a child.

//Brad, I really was quite a kid wasn't I?// Schuldich asks self-depreciatingly.

Crawford swallows before replying. "You are who you are." //And there's nothing wrong with who you are.// He adds reassuringly.

//You would _never_ say anything like that when we were Schwarz.// Schuldich points out, amused but warmed. //But I was like a kid.//

"Only once in a while." Crawford gives a little smirk, then turns back to his food. "I can put up with that."

//"Put up"?// Schuldich puts both his palms over where his heart is supposed to be, and says melodramatically, collapsing to the floor at the same time, //You only "put up" with me? Don't you love me for who I am?//

"Oh yes, of course." Playing along, Crawford finally sets down his chopsticks, pushing the finished meal away. "Everybody loves you for who you are. Maybe except Nagi who gets ticked off by the kid in you rather often."

//He's about the only one in Schwarz actually capable of love.//

"I have no comments on that."

//Ha. You never have any constructive comments when the topic is "love" anyway.//

"I didn't bring up the topic, Schuldich. You did."

//You're such a bastard.//

Silence stretches over the two. Schuldich makes a face at Crawford, making the older man smile.

"It's too early..."

//What?//

Crawford clears his throat, then looks away, evading Schuldich's curious stare. "Do you know why I said that love is for fools?"

//Because it brings about downfalls?// The German replies as innocently as he can. //It weakens, then destroys.//

"Yes." Schuldich is walking around to see Crawford's face better, and the American closes his eyes, not allowing the redhead to see anything he is not meant to see right now. "Because it is the strongest of all emotions that absolutely no one can control."

The German stops in his tracks. He is starting to get the jist of what Crawford is saying. He starts to say something, then catches himself. Crawford definitely does not like hearing that...

"Not even me, yes Schuldich, you can say it. I've gone this far anyway." Crawford leans back into his chair with a sigh.

Crawford is admitting that he... Schuldich offers his friend a small smile, and receives one in return. Several minutes passes before Schuldich can say anything in reply.

//So you've been a fool?//

"I'm not sure."

//It's too early to say?// The German smirks a little. //You've got yourself some blossoming romance?//

Crawford words himself in his head before replying. Saying something half way and then getting stuck is not his style. "I mean it's too early to tell you now."

//You mean it's not something of the present, but in the past?//

"Like I said, it's too early to tell you."

//Oooh the suspense.//

* * *

Nagi was a strange child. A very strange one. By his fifth week in Rosenkreuz, he attitude towards Crawford had changed. The hostility was completely gone, yet he still kept his distance from the man. Crawford spent some time trying to figure out why. Nagi definitely was not afraid of him anymore. Perhaps it was just plain hate because Crawford had dragged him into the mess called Rosenkreuz.

Crawford had learned not to see Nagi during his lessons with Neumann - he knew Neumann had his reasons for not meeting him face to face, reasons he could not reveal, and Crawford did not want to push the issue. But every now and then he made a point to check on Nagi's progress, and occasionally took Nagi out for dinner. Despite being very nutritious, Rosenkreuz was not a particularly famous for serving tasty cuisine. Crawford foresaw Nagi's rejection to Western food anyway - it was more a physical problem that the child's stomach needed time to adjust to foreign food, rather than a bad eating attitude. But in any case, the American wanted to remind Nagi whose side he was on, and his visits and meals did the trick well.

Berlin. Nagi had been transferred to this city for its telekinetic-specific training facilities since the second week, which was fortunate for the boy because Crawford would have faced great difficultly trying to find Japanese food in the Bavarian Alps. In Berlin, he had managed to find a place, Savignyplatz, where Japanese natives hung out and gathered, and was filled with Japanese restaurants. They dined there three or four times a week. Nagi did not comment much on the dining-out, maintaining his cold distance from Crawford, but the man knew he was happy, if not grateful, about it. After all, Nagi was only a child and he could not hide much.

"Why can I eat out when everyone else eat at the canteen?" Nagi still regarded Crawford with certain wariness, but that did not put him off from eating two full-size ramen's. He had telekinesis classes on the odd days of the week, and could always eat a cattle afterwards.

"I pulled a few strings." Crawford nibbled on a piece of pickled turnip.

Nagi's voice was still gentle and quiet, but now there was a certain force to it. "And I never see other trainees make phone calls like I do." He set down his chopsticks. "What strings did you pull to get me so many privileges?"

"Why do you want to know?" Crawford gave Nagi a small, cryptic smile, designed to annoy the youngster. It made him felt like he was Schuldich.

Nagi narrowed his eyes, frowned, and turned his attention back to his dinner.

Having had his share of fun, Crawford told Nagi what he wanted to know. "Because I have friends in high places, and you've already been assigned to a team. So technically, you're an agent, not a trainee."

"Assigned to your team."

"Correct. Objections?"

Nagi looked up at his "legal guardian", and Crawford held that gaze with his own. Nagi's eyes were challenging, and slightly rebellious, very typical of a youngster of his age, and Crawford was not sure what his own eyes were conveying. He was just looking at Nagi because he loved the colour of Nagi's eyes: a heartbreaking shade of cerulean. More amazing than any jewel Crawford had ever seen.

"... None. None at all." Nagi was the first to look away, raising a hand to catch the waitress' attention. "One coke." He glanced at Crawford's empty cup. "And one more sake."

Crawford knew, then, he had Nagi on his side.

* * *

//I think,// Schuldich suddenly interrupts for no apparent reason. //Nagi is a sweetheart.//

Crawford takes the chance to have a break from talking and take a shower.

//Hey are you listening?//

"I am. Go on." The American says as he picks up clean clothing from his bag.

//Showering so soon after eating is bad for you.// Schuldich grumbles, knowing, without the need of precognition, what Crawford's reply will be.

"Like I care." Crawford answers and closes the bathroom door. //So what about Nagi?//

//He realised you really care about him, but he can't stop playing cool.//

//Children are like that. Play cool and pretend to be grown-ups.//

Schuldich sighs a little dramatically. Trust Crawford to not know these things. Nagi was not the average child, not someone who pretended who he was not. At thirteen, he had a hardness that some people twice his age did not have. He had to play cool because he did not know how else to face Crawford, the caring, yet cold, evil, unpredictable bastard.

//Sometimes it's scary how much alike you and Nagi are. Full of contradictions.//

//What?//

//Nags wasn't trying to be more than he was. He was just trying to please you.//

//... Would you like to elaborate on that?//

//You're such a dumbass.// Schuldich walks to the bathroom to lean on the wooden door. //You want your team strong and shit like that. It's Nags' way of trying to satisfy you. The kid didn't know how else to do it.//

Crawford pauses for a moment, taking in the words. Is that what it was? //How do you know? Telepathy?//

//Observation, dumbass. But like you said long ago, you never knew your team very much when it came to delicate details like that.//

//Schuldich...//

//Hmm?//

//Stop calling me "moron", "bastard" and "dumbass".//

//Whatever you say, Bradley-daddy.//

[to be continued]


	14. Part 14

**Blinded**

Part Fourteen

The sounds of water in the shower filters its way out of the bathroom, through the waxed wooden door, reaching Schuldich. He closes his eyes, listening to it. He can recognise the pattern of the sounds the same way he can tell which of Schwarz is coming home, or who is looking for food in the kitchen in the middle of the night, just by listening. Farfarello hardly ever had to open the front door - he was not allowed out alone - but if he did, he turned the lock as if wanting to break it. Nagi's keyring had six keys and the dangling toy from Tot, so he was always noisy at the door. Crawford had four keys, two for the door, one for the car, and one Schuldich never knew the purpose of, but he tended to hold the other keys in his palm when he insert the key to the lock, so he was rather quiet.

As for pigging-out in the middle of the night, that was something Farfarello never did, even if he was not restrained. Nagi did it all the time, but he always tried to keep it quiet, unlike Schuldich himself, who pushed things about and slammed cabinet doors, not caring if he might wake anyone. It was, in truth, his way of inviting others to join him for a quick snack.

And during the better times, if Crawford decided to have a midnight snack as well, which did not happen often, the three of them always ended up cooking something proper. Usually it was Nagi who cooked. Crawford did too, if Schuldich asked nicely. Schuldich never bothered to cook, telling the others that he might poison them. He stocked up on plenty of ready-meals instead.

Schuldich listens closer to the shower. The noise of splashes and movements are definitely Crawford's, which is obvious because it cannot be anyone else now, but somehow Schuldich feels calm listening to it, like a child feeling secure hearing the voices of the parents, then falling asleep without nightmares.

//Schuldich, are you there?//

//Heyo.// Schuldich lifts his chin slightly and calls in recognition. //What can I do for you, O-Master?//

Water dripping. Then the shower is turned of completely. //Nothing. You just went quiet.//

Schuldich pushes himself off the door. //I was just listening.//

//Hm?// Feet on tiled floor. Clothes rustling. Then the door opens. "To what?"

//Nothing that you'll be interested in.// Schuldich shrugs a little.

Crawford frowns. "Listening to people again?"

Schuldich watches Crawford sit at the edge of the bed and dry his hair, not bothering to give an answer. Crawford never blow-dries his hair. He just rubs it with a towel and then comb his fingers through it. Nagi was the same, perhaps following Crawford's example. Farfarello never saw the need of a hairdryer. The only person in the house who touched one was Schuldich, and only if he was in a hurry to go out, because blow-drying gave his hair static and he had to put serum on it. Crawford always gave him the look of "you're ridiculous" when he did that. But Schuldich knew Crawford liked his team to look presentable and static hair definitely did not cut it...

It has been four years, but little things like these stick to the German's mind. There is no way he will ever forget the old habits of each of Schwarz. Is he the only one in Schwarz to remember these things?

No point thinking about that now. He moves around on the bed so that he can lean backwards to rest on Crawford's back. //Believe what I say about Nags. You know, little kids always copied adults to look cool, but Nags copied you a lot, because he thought that might make you happy. He really looked up to you.// He says, getting back to the subject raised before Crawford went to the shower.

Crawford sighs. "I didn't notice."

//As long as you know now. That's what I'm for, Brad, I take care of these things.//

A pause. "I thought you might have made a better leader than I did."

Schuldich's eyes grow wide. He pushes himself up, turning around. //What the hell?//

"I did. You know I didn't like being a leader."

//Lone wolf.// The German grins. //But you enjoyed it towards the end. And you know I don't have any leadership qualities even if my life depends on it.//

"You have. You just didn't know it." Crawford throws the towel onto a nearby chair, turning so that he faces the redhead. "I started worrying about leading a team since finding Farfarello. You helped me more than you ever knew."

Schuldich is going to take it as a bad joke, but Crawford's smile makes him pause. He smiles back, the way Crawford likes it. //You should've told me back then, you know, it would've made my day. Or my year. Or my life, even.// Then he pauses, and adds, with a sigh, //But of course you wouldn't say these things. Fucking manipulative bastard.//

Crawford shrugs, the usual evil smirk back on his face. He echoes the words Schuldich used just moments ago.

"As long as you know now."

* * *

Crawford did not plan to get any souvenirs on this trip to catch that problematic paranormal he mentioned to Schuldich on the telephone, but he had found the perfect gift for Schuldich the day he landed in the foreign country.

The leader of the recruitment team met Crawford at the airport, then they drove straight to the 18-year old's hiding place.

Crawford flipped open the file, which was surprisingly thin - Rosenkreuz always had files inches thick for each of their potential agents - and studied at it briefly again. Astral projection. Nothing very rare at all, it can be experienced by the average person as the "out of body experience", and even being able to control these experiences, which was then termed AP, was not much of a rarity. It was a second phenomenon, coupled with AP, that raised SS' interests and had the recruiment team's hands tied.

"What's the particular problem with getting him?"

"He's one hell of a fighter." The leader told Crawford. "But they want him in one piece."

Crawford nodded. That meant they could not use weapons, or break too many bones. "There aren't any telekinetics to hold him down?"

"Funny, isn't it? They want this boy but they can't lend us a telekinetic to catch him with."

"Typical SS." Crawford agreed, simply to carry on with the conversation.

The leader shrugged. "No one ever understand their way of thinking."

They arrived in a derelict area, where several old cargo containers were dumped on what once could have been industrial land, giving ideal sleeping places for the homeless and trading venues for anything illegal from bootleg softwares to firearms. It seemed to have just been through a Garda raid though, and all that were left were thin bodies wrapped up in blankets inside the open containers, trying to catch some sleep and forget their desperation.

It did not take a genius to spot where the young man was. All other containers had three or four bodies sleeping inside, except one of them, where only one young man sat and mumbled to himself.

"Just how unstable is he?" Standing afar, the American tilted his head towards their target.

"He is capable of coherent speech half the time." The leader sighed. "You know already, it's in the files, his gives nil response to pain, so nothing myself or my cyrokinetic did had any effects except to damage a potential specimen. He might be a schizo... but can't be sure unless we catch him and have him checked."

Crawford nodded. That sounded rather tough for the recruitment team, with all sorts of anything-kinetics except a telekinetic, who would be very useful in this situation.

"He's got everything strange going on, an albino that does AP and feels no pain... Oh, another thing." The leader pointed. They had been spotted and the young man was slowly getting up. "He's unstable, you can call him mad if you want, but he's very very smart. Never fell for any tricks or traps we set up."

"Understood." Crawford stepped forward. "If I can't help you get him today, then shoot him and bring the body back for the labs. Those were the instructions I got."

Behind him, the leader grinned. "All right. At least we can end this today."

Crawford walked toards the container, knowing that the leader was ready to cover for him and shoot. The young man glared at him, not moving from his spot. Normally anyone facing this predicament would back into the container, or move out into a more open space, under human's fight or flight response to imminent danger. So he must be very confident in himself, a complete madman, or someone who could control his psychological response to threat.

As Crawford approached, he got to see the young man's face better. A very pale, scarred face. The paleness, together with his eye and hair colour, were probably all results of being born with a lack of pigment in his body. But the scars were what caught Crawford's attention. One scar began from the left brow bone, crossing the eyelid and ending beyond the bridge of the nose. That left eye was most likely very weak or even blind from the event that created that scar, judging from the way it blinked. Several earrings adorned each year. Thick, almost pouting lips. It was a strange combination of features, topped by hair that was roughly cut, as if it was done using a knife. Maybe it was done with a knife.

The young man stared at Crawford with yellow eyes. He did not move at all, even when Crawford finally stopped within arm's reach from him, but he looked like a cat ready for action, muscles tense and eyes wide.

"How do you want to play? A fight or a chase?"

"Oh, my lungs aren't that good, so let's keep the running around to the minimum?" Crawford smirked.

The smirk registered on the younger man. A predatory gleam flitted across amber-coloured eyes. "A fight it is, then."

The American almost did not foresee the knife, but he stepped back just before his abdomen was slashed open. He caught the arm and pulled himself closer so that their noses almost touched.

That move had taken the 18-year old completely by surprise.

"I didn't say we should fight, either. I'm here to make a deal with you."

The young man arched one amused eyebrow, his body relaxing when Crawford released his arm, and he tucked the knife into the leather holder strapped to his waist.

"You want to fight." _//Make an agreement with him. Give him a choice.//_ "Then fight for me. You'll be out of the law's reach. The Garda cannot get you, nor can any police wherever you go."

The young man crossed his arms and considered the offer. Crawford was glad he was in his "sane" moments. "So... what's the catch?"

"Fight for me, kill for me, and no one else."

Several minutes later, the leader was shocked to see Crawford coming back in one piece, and the new recruit trailing behind him, without the need of any restraints. Before he could ask anything, Crawford shrugged at him. "A trick I learned from the telepaths."

It was true. Schuldich had told him to make a deal with Nagi, the same way Neumann offered Crawford a deal. Even though there really was not much of a choice for Crawford, Neumann had always lived up to his end of the deal, giving Crawford the control and power he wanted. A deal. A choice. That was always the best formula to make anyone willingly follow.

They filed into the car.

"How shall I call you?"

"They call me Farfarello." He replied in heavily-accented English.

Crawford found that he liked Farfarello's Irish accent. It changed English into an interesting language. He liked listening to accents, and enjoyed the way Schuldich still made guttural noises in his throat, and how Nagi struggled to say "Crawford" properly. It reminded him of their bond, strong enough to cross cultural differences, and valued enough by each of them to try to appreciate each other's origin.

Directing his attention back to the Irishman sitting at the back, Crawford chuckled once. "Farfarello, you'll have a good time. I know someone who'll like you very much."

It was a gut feeling. The telepath would love to meet someone with a mind like Farfarello's - not simple or stupid, but easy to understand, with no hidden layers or conflicting emotions.

"So what's your name, mister?"

"Brad Crawford."

"Brad Crawford." Farfarello repeated, smiling in his unique, haunting way. "Welcome to Ireland."

Crawford asked to have Farfarello when the tests on the Irishman were over. The Council were surprised and amused at such a request, but granted it to him, provided that Farfarello stayed in an asylum to complete his treatment for both his mind and his left eye. They had hopes that after proper medical attention, the Irishman would gain stability and control over his astral projection.

Farfarello travelled with them back to Japan. He was in a not-so-sane mood on the jet, making Nagi slightly nervous, but he did not say or ask anything about who the Irishman was. Crawford was not sure if the boy was mocking his authority, gaining a blind trust like Schuldich, or simply did not care. Crawford believed it was a mockery, one he was not sure if he should allow, now that he was the leader of a new team.

For the first time since he joined the SS, Crawford had been made a leader, an honourable role that was looked rather highly upon within the organisation. It meant the person had considerable power and had earned the favour of the Council and Elders. Of the 4000-men strong organisation, there were only twenty such special teams.

But being the leader of an SS team was nothing like heading the fencing team back in university. Failure could mean death, and his team consisted of a fearless schizophrenic psychopath, a telepathic German with blind trust, and a telekinetic boy who was reaching puberty. Deep inside, Crawford was a little unsettled about it all, although the feeling was not strong enough to be termed fear.

And after all the years of pressure from his parents, Crawford honestly would much rather work on his own than having to be responsible for a team. At least then no one would check his progress all the time, place hope on his performance, or outright rely on him. Not that he had much of a choice at all. And he needed his team to support his Plan to escape, anyway.

After touching-down in Japan, they sent the Irishman to the asylum straight away, then headed home to find that Schuldich's hair had turned pale green.

That could be the one time Crawford ever got close to getting a heart attack.

"I told you on the phone already." Schuldich definitely had a good time seeing Crawford and Nagi's expressions.

"I didn't think you meant it literally." Nagi walked over, and Schuldich bent down a little to let the boy touch the green strands.

"So, whaddya think?" Schuldich eyed Crawford, smirking.

"... Shocking." It did not look half bad, no, but Crawford knew he was going to miss the white-blonde hair. "Like you got chlorine-damage from swimming pool water."

//What the heck did you do to yourself?//

//I was left on my own for two months.// Schuldich stood straight again, then picked up Nagi's bag and walked upstairs with the boy. His reply was dismissive, yet the small amount of empathic connection he usually allowed himself to share with the American had betrayed him. There was boredom, bitterness, and an overwhelming sadness. //Ran out of things to do.//

It was a response Crawford did not expect to get. Two months was not a long time at all, and given Schuldich's unbelievably wide range of interests, he could not have been bored. But the way Schuldich just spoke was as if nothing could motivate him when he was on his own. As if he was a puppet that could only sing and dance when Crawford was there to pluck at his strings. It was not that Schuldich depended on him; it was as if he _needed_ him to live.

Crawford could not say if the concept was annoying, satisfying, or heartbreaking, but he refused to look deeper into it.

//So is this your protest then, dyeing your hair green?//

Schuldich continued his way up the stairs. His only reply was a sweet, soft chuckle.

That evening, Crawford took Schuldich to Farfarello's asylum. He was, rather childishly, eager to see what the German thought of this "gift" he found for him.

Farfarello was dressed in a strait jacket, arms crossed and bounded to his sides. His legs were shackled by belts that stopped him from taking large steps or running. He was curled up in a foetal position, and looked up when he heard footsteps, greeting Crawford with a tilt of his head.

"Hey Crawford." He said in English.

"How's it going?"

"Not too bad." Farfarello stood. Crawford noted his agility in the way he could do that so smoothly, because being restrained this way must make movements and balance unusually difficult. "Just a little bored."

The German's reactions turned out to be exactly as Crawford foresaw they would be. "Who the hell is this?" Schuldich stared at the albino teenager curiously as the staff unlocked the door for them. They entered Farfarello's cell, their fearlessness unsettling the staff more than Farfarello could.

"Souvenir from Ireland."

"How did you find him?"

"He did an AP and got detected by one of our psychics."

The German circled once around this piece of "souvenir", a grin beginning to spread on his face. Farfarello's eye followed Schuldich's movement, not at all uncomfortable.

"If you like Farfarello, he'll be the fourth member of our team."

"You mean I actually get to decide?" Schuldich put an arm on Farfarello's shoulder and leaned casually on him. "Now that's something new."

Crawford arched one eyebrow. "I make decisions because I know you don't care enough to make them."

Schuldich laughed. "Well I say Farfarello stays." He turned to the Irishman, winking. "Hm, whaddaya say, Farfie?"

Farfarello seemed to be amused by the conversation, and that he was given a pet name so quickly, but he did not reply. Schuldich took the silence as a positive answer - or maybe he was talking to Farfarello telepathically all along, Crawford could not tell. Whatever happened to Schuldich - or the telepath did to himself - over the last two months had made a difference to his power. There was greater control and subtlty such that when he used it, there was no longer the obvious surge of power in the air.

"Hey, can I stay here for a while?"

Crawford eyed the staff, who he knew had instructions from SS to follow his orders. "Ask your new friend."

"Well Farfie, mind if I stay and chat with you?"

Farfarello gave Schuldich a brainless grin. "Sure."

Schuldich did not go home for the next few days. He was having too much fun with Farfarello.

In a strange, completely unjustifiable way, Crawford felt almost jealous. Almost.

[to be continued]

_Author's note: Regarding Farfie's "astral projection"... it's something briefly mentioned in the anime mook, but I never understood since he never used that ability at any point in the series. This raised a brief discussion on the WKML. Some said it explains why he's immune to pain, why he can tell there are Kritiker agents on the roof (episode 23), and why he appears in Crawford's mental realm in Gluhen, etc. I'm not too sure about those theories. I just think they put it in in case they could use it in the plot one day, but in the end didn't._

"Garda" is the name of the police force in Ireland, by the way.


	15. Part 15

_Thank you to everyone who had commented on this story. Please let me know what you think of this part, too. Somehow I think this part is quite a mess but I'm not sure why. Plot-wise it's fine because it's following what I planned, but the way I wrote it... I just can't bring myself to rewrite it anymore, after staring at my screen for hours and hours and only managing small improvements on my words._

Anyway, please R&R.

=YS=

**Blinded**

Part Fifteen

//No...//

Sitting down on a wooden chair at the balcony, Crawford looks up to Schuldich, who is preferring to stand and lean on the railing, looking out.

"'No' to what?"

//You weren't really jealous of Farfie were you?//

Crawford rolls his eyes. He does not say things twice unless necessary. And he did add the "almost" to that sentence.

//Come on.// Schuldich turns around so that he now faces Crawford, and leans his back on the railing instead. //You weren't really. You couldn't be.//

As his answer, Crawford shrugs.

//We moved house soon after that, didn't we.// Turning away again, Schuldich murmurs into Crawford's mind, his voice comfortable and familiar. //You got your own apartment, just next door to Nagi and me. There was a room for Farfie too, in my apartment. You separated yourself from the rest of us.//

Crawford bites his lower lip, knowing what is coming. "True."

//You separated yourself from me.//

"You can say that." The American admits.

The wind is picking up again, lifting Crawford's hair, and even the smaller, lighter items in the hotel room since he has left open the door that leads to the balcony. Schuldich remains as still as he can be, bright orange hair framing his face perfectly, not touched by the wind at all. He puts an elbow on the railing to prop his chin up with a palm.

//And what did you just say? You think you were jealous of Farfie because I stayed with him for a couple of days when you didn't even want to live with me.//

"It doesn't make sense, that's what you want to say."

Schuldich nods once. //And that doesn't matter, that's what you're going to tell me.//

To this, Crawford chuckles.

"So you've been doing the precognition exercises."

//Oh fuck you.// The term "precognition exercises" brings back some funny, yet unpleasant, memories. //I'm not letting this one go easily, Brad. What the hell is all this? You always make sense of things, and you justify everything you - //

"No, _You_ always try to make sense of things. Not me."

A moment of silence falls between them. Then Schuldich grins, blue eyes shining as they turn to Crawford. He pushes himself away from the railing, circles around to Crawford's back and puts his hands on the other man's shoulders. He leans forwards and down to look into the American's eyes. He loves that colour, that golden brown reminds him of caramel, of honey, of sweet-tasting things; It reminds him of one cold, hard American-Asian with a burning passion deep inside, a man he chose to follow until death. And even after death.

//Actually... on second thought, I can probably understand it.//

"Do share."

//Oh?// Schuldich fakes surprise, raising an eyebrow to mimic Crawford's usual expression. //You want _me_ to tell you what it was that _you_ felt?//

"Should I say 'please'?" Crawford asks dryly.

Schuldich stands straight again, disappearing from the other man's view. Crawford has to know. He is not stupid, despite being a little blind to some things. He must have a rough idea that he wants to confirm, or perhaps this is all rhetoric, guiding the German to see what he is trying to say.

Schuldich snickers. And decides to say something that seems completely random.

//Something happened between Nags and I when we had our own house. Actually, not really between us, it was just him, but sort of involved me. I don't think you knew about it.//

Crawford is put off by the sudden change of topic. "What was it?"

//I just let the boy go through it himself, without doing anything about it. Nothing to encourage or discourage. It lasted until... um, probably until two months into the Takatori job.//

The American shifts in his seat, turning around to look up at Schuldich. He knows there is no need to tell him to get to the point. He is merely doing it to show he is listening and interested.

//I don't think Nags will mind if I tell you, it's all old stuff anyway.// Getting the desired effect, Schuldich lets the coin drop. //He had a crush on me.//

Crawford's lips part slightly in surprise. Schuldich walks around the chair to sit on the little table where Crawford has placed his cup of coffee.

//You know, boys during puberty, hormones rushing, and they get confused about their sexuality. The ususal stuff. So I just let him grow out of it and decide what he wants.// The corners of Schuldich's mouth tug upwards to form the smile he knows Crawford likes. He gazes at Crawford meaningfully. //It's kinda flattering for me, actually, to know someone I really value have had feelings for me.//

Crawford smiles back, but looks away, staring into a non-exsistant spot just behind the German. Schuldich can only place that expression as "slight embarrassment". It is the first time he sees it on the man's face, he would have made fun of him and made sure he rubbed it in if this was during their cold war, but this is not the time now.

//Farfie wasn't too far off when he said you and Nagi were alike, hm?//

Now Crawford knows why Schuldich is suddenly talking about this. The topic has not changed, after all.

//I'm really, really flattered, Brad. Honestly. Thank you.// Schuldich leans forward, putting an elbow on his thigh and chin in the palm. He lifts the other hand and wriggles his fingers to get Crawford to look at him again. When their eyes meet, Schuldich speaks again. //And thanks for telling me.//

Schuldich can only guess how hard this admittance is for Crawford, even if he has already went around with words to guide Schuldich's thoughts rather than saying it out loud himself.

Their gaze only holds for several seconds. Then Crawford relaxes, gathering enough inside himself to smirk again. "I thought you were going to be quite sarcastic about it."

//I would, except that there's enough irony in this you don't need my sarcasm - I did say a while ago I'd let you, you know, if you wanted me, and you did but I didn't know - //

Crawford cuts Schuldich off. He closes his eyes, brows furrowing ever so slightly as he draws a breath. "Do you know you unsettle me when you say things like that?"

Schuldich tilts his head, and shrugs, not giving a "yes" or "no". //That means I should stop telling you how I feel?//

"... No."

//There we go.//

Seeing Schuldich's smug grin, there is nothing Crawford can do but to sigh, shake his head, and smile back.

* * *

The day after Crawford, Nagi and Farfarello landed in Japan, the leader's application for new houses was approved. Within two weeks they moved to Tokyo. Nobody said anything or commented on their new living arrangement - there were three bedrooms in Schuldich's apartment, one of which never got used because Farfarello stayed in the asylum. Crawford had no idea if Nagi still slept in Schuldich's bed during their stay there.

The American's apartment was next door. It was equally sized as that was the standard size throughout the building.

"Three rooms for you too? Office... gym... bedroom, like this? Or are we actually staying here for long?" Schuldich asked Crawford, examining the new home. He was wearing a black, knitted sweater a size too big for him, and comfortable looking jeans. Crawford cursed himself for not only staring at Schldich's bullet scar, but also trailing his gaze up the man's neck, and down the collarbone...

The only comforting side to all this was that precognition promised him he would get over this quite soon.

"You do realise this is my apartment." Crawford pointed out, pulling his suitcase into the only room that had a bed, the one Schuldich said should be the office instead.

"You mind?"

Crawford stopped, stared at Schuldich across the room, and narrowed his eyes. "I believe that's fairly obvious."

Schuldich sat himself on the bed. Crawford chose to stand. "What happened to you? For the last week or two you've been so damn agitated." The telepath snickers. "Time of the month, hm?"

A long journey; moving house; landing himself in the biggest and most dangeours job ever in terms of backstabbing and being checked by the Council; teamming with a half-blind schizophrenic (that was his own fault); and finding himself having a goddamn crush - God help him he was not a teenager anymore - on a colleague. If these were not reasons enough for him to lose patience over things, then Crawford did not know what was. He had no mood to appreciate any jokes right now.

The change of air around Crawford registered with Schuldich. He dropped the smirk.

//Something happened to you and Nagi in Rosenkreuz?//

Crawford put the suitcase on the bed, opening it. He shot a glance at Schuldich. "No."

//Something about our new contract?//

//We'll be going to the HQ within this week. There'll be a formal meeting with the Council.//

Schuldich whistled. He knew the implications of that. The upcoming job was very, very important indeed. He flicked stray locks of pale-green hair behind his shoulders, and said something. Crawford did not hear what it was as he felt an unbidden vision gnaw at the edge of his senses. He held it back, raising a hand to gesture Schuldich to be quiet, then allowed the vision to come through.

_His heart was beating so fast he was sure it would jump out of his chest. He covered his chest with sweating hands, over where the organ was, then a shock coursed through him as if he had been electrocuted. At least he guessed that was how it must feel to be electrocuted. He fell from the chair, one shoulder hitting the ground before the rest of his body._

He could not breathe. Was someone squeezing his throat? Panic. He felt his own throat constricting, but nobody was strangling him. Panic. He could hear a woman's voice in the background, screaming and moaning. He heard himself - Crawford - and Schuldich calling, yelling, Crawford verbally and Schuldich mentally, but he could not form any reply to either of them. Panic.

"Nagi!"

He could not breathe. Panic. He was going to die. He did not want to die yet. No. No. No.

A sharp pain in his palm brought Crawford back to his senses. His eyes shot open and found himself on the wooden floor, laying on his side. Schuldich had crouched down beside him, his thumb pressing hard into the pressure point in between Crawford's thumb and forefinger to cause enough pain to wake him from the vision.

"Thank you." The American sat up, testing his throat, relieved that he could breathe just fine. He had sweat so much his shirt was soaked.

"Shit, I thought you had cardiac arrest or something."

Crawford's head hurt. Fingers gingerly brushed over a spot at the back of his head, feeling a lump starting to form. He must have hit his head when he fell. "Where's Nagi?" 

"Gone to buy kitty treats."

"Call him. Tell him to come home right now. And keep him right under your nose."

Crawford stood. These visions... this time all he got was a lump in the head and a soaked shirt. But could they kill him? What if he foresaw the moment of death?

Schuldich watched him wordlessly pick clean clothing from the suitcase and head for the shower. Crawford paused at the door, turning to eye him questioningly, but Schuldich just shook his head and left to call Nagi, choosing not to voice what was in his mind.

This did not happened often. And whenever it did, Crawford wished he was a telepath.

He never admitted that to anyone.

Brad looked up at Crawford, nuzzled his legs, then jumped onto his lap, curling into a ball of fluff.

Crawford noted that there would be cat hair all over his pants, then ignored the cat, letting it sleep in his lap. He was reading a book, _"Death Dealer's Manual"_, which he found in the living room. Nagi's, probably. That child did have an interesting book collection, especially for someone his age. There were notes, mostly translations of individual words, made in the margins, and the page that discussed garrotting was bookmarked. Beside the title, there was a doodle of a man being strangled.

Crawford noticed that the man wore glasses.

He could hear Schuldich's voice at the door. A while ago he went out to fetch Nagi home so that the teenager did not have to take the bus, and said something about renting a video. The two entered the house, dumping several carrier bags on the nearest piece of furniture. The cat in Crawford's lap woke.

"Look what I got you... tuna! Come here Brad!" Nagi said, gesturing at the cat.

Crawford turned.

Schuldich bursted out laughing. Nagi froze, and then covered his mouth to laugh.

Crawford wanted to dig a hole and bury himself.

To rub it in further, Schuldich laid out the take-out they bought, and told Crawford, "Dinner's ready. Come here Brad! Come on, boy!" The only thing Crawford could do was eat dinner in silence and let them laugh until they got tired.

Schuldich was talking about their journey home. Nagi added details, but not speaking much, as usual. Somehow, whenever the two were together, so much seemed to happen. They always had so much... fun.

"... Incidentally, why were you here instead of your own apartment, Br - Crawford?" Schuldich snickered.

"My house hasn't got a kettle yet." Crawford replied, gesturing at the cup of tea he had been drinking.

"Oh, you poor thing. I'll let you borrow ours then."

Schuldich could not stop laughing. They threw away the foil boxes after finishing, dumped what should not be thrown away into the sink, then the German announced it was video time.

Nagi picked up the video from the coffee table, and tossed it to Crawford. "Not my idea."

The American studied the box. "_Playboy_?"

Schuldich snatched the box from Crawford and loaded the video. "The store had a good collection too. I thought they wouldn't have much Western porn here."

Crawford just stood there, glancing between Schuldich and Nagi. Was Nagi not a bit too young?

"Come on, he's fifteen! Already too late to start learning about sex!"

"Not in this country." Crawford just laughed at the logic. "And woman-on-woman isn't really proper sex education."

"What, you're going to sit down and tell him about the birds and the bees then?"

The Japanese boy did not seem to agree or disagree with watching the video. In fact the other two might have been speaking too fast in English for him to understand much of the conversation. Joining the boy, Schuldich sat down on the couch too, whereas Crawford turned to leave.

"You not watching?"

"Not after I've just eaten. Makes me sick."

"It's not as if you're eating and watching at the same time."

"That's worse." Crawford sighed, leaving for his own home. //Keep an eye on him.//

//Will do.//

They sat, silent, outside the emergency room.

Schuldich stole a glance at his companion, wanting to say something. He opted for telepathy.

//You foresaw this.//

Crawford nodded, leaning back into the overstuffed chair, eyes closed. //I saw the outcome, not the reason.//

He was still fishing out the keys from his pocket for the door when the realisation dawned.

Nagi... woman's voice in the background... that video!

//SCHULDICH!//

//Wh - Nagi? NAGI! CRAWFORD!//

Crawford had rushed back to find Nagi already on the floor, convulsing, struggling to breathe.

Schuldich was on his knees, trying to get air into the teenager's lungs. Crawford contacted the SS, who instructed him to take Nagi to a normal hospital. SS had yet to set up a medical team in Tokyo, and Nagi was still registered as a citizen, with Crawford as his legal guardian. There should not be any problems.

Crawford hated hospitals. They reminded him of his little brother dying in the emergency room. He thought he felt nothing back then, impassively watching his parents comfort each other and praying for their children, but he did, he wanted Jamie to live. He so desperately wanted him to live, despite knowing that was not possible. Fifteen years later, he sat just like he did then, hoping the boy inside would live. Both times he had been given a warning, and both times he failed to steer things the right way. The boy Brad had been... had died with Jamie, leaving a hollow space inside him. The man he became, Crawford, could not take the same blow again. It was too hollow and weak inside to deal with the same failure. Gods, how he hated being weak.

Precognition told Crawford Nagi would be fine, but that was beside the point.

Perhaps he should have tried for another vision, one to see the reason of Nagi's sudden collapse. But after the first one that almost stopped his breathing, he did not want to try it again. He thought it would be safe just to watch the boy for any strange signs.

//Crawford, I think you could do with some empathy training.//

//... Empathy?//

//You sometimes seem to get wrapped up in the emotions and senses when you have a vision. I've seen this before already, just before you went with Nagi to Rosenkreuz. You saw something drastic happening and didn't let me go with you guys. The waves were so strong I could pick up some bits as well. I think you might have empathy as a secondary... power.// Schuldich explained, choosing his words carefully. Rosenkreuz liked calling their special abilities "gifts". Schuldich used to see telepathy as a curse, but now that he had control over it, he preferred calling it a "power". Never a gift.

Crawford took a moment to digest this.

//I can give you some pointers about it if you want, to keep it secret from the Council. It can be a card to play against them should we need it.//

//What can my tiny bit of empathy do that you can't?// Crawford snorted.

//You never know - well perhaps you do, hm? But at least you can protect yourself from whatever you foresee.//

Schuldich knew. He knew Crawford was too frightened to get another vision, afraid it would kill him. And he did not laugh or call him a coward, merely pointing out there was a way to get around it.

It made Crawford wonder just how much Schuldich knew and understood, without even using his telepathic skills.

It made him want to get away from the German even more.

* * *

Crawford's lips curl into a faint mocking smile. What was he doing, punishing himself in his mind for something he knew Nagi would get through, worrying over something Schuldich could see no matter how well it was hidden. There really was nothing he could do about any of it except, perhaps if he knew beforehand, prevent Nagi from eating that dinner. It had been a very serious case of nut allergy that almost killed the boy.

And almost killed him, too.

//None of us believed in talking things over.//

"No. And I could not." Not with a team to lead, an escape plan to execute, and SS breathing down his neck. He had to convince everyone that he could do it.

//You didn't think,// Schuldich said, eyes focused on Crawford, //you could tell me things without hurting your ego?//

Crawford glares at the German. "It was not about my ego."

//But it was.//

Blue eyes gaze challengingly into golden brown ones.

Schuldich says again. //That's why we didn't just escape from SS. We went back to destroy them. The same way you didn't run away from home, choosing to kill your parents instead. They doubted you and hurt your pride.//

"Schuldich - "

//Takatori, too, committed the same crime against you.//

Annoyance fades from Crawford's features, replaced by a blankness. Takatori. Schwarz had worked for this man for almost two years, and Crawford itched about killing him every moment of it. He had never felt that much passion over a kill, one that in the end he did not do himself.

Those two years drove him to near madness.

"Yes, you're right. Takatori too."

And he was not the only one who suffered the consequences.

[to be continued]


	16. Part 16

_The past 15 parts have been revised and grammar mistakes corrected. I think there are more that I haven't spotted. Please be patient._

After struggling with the last part, this new part literally just poured out of me. This fic has now passed its half-way mark I think. The other day I just sat and wondered why I called it "Blinded". I think it's just a general feeling the story gives me. This fic can also be called TFTDMLA - The Fic That's Draining My Life Away, though...

Again, thank you for the reviews. I won't list names here because I know I'll forget some people by accident, but honestly, thank you. I'm dying for more reviews. I can never get enough of them. I really want to know what you think about this fic so far. Maybe the grammar sucks... (well not maybe, I know my grammar sucks) You find certain bits hard to understand... Or you feel some bits are really boring and somebody's OOC... You want to see more of certain characters... Or there are bits that you really enjoy... Please tell me!

=YS=

**Blinded**

Part Sixteen

They feared him. The formal inaugural ceremony had not yet taken place, but everyone knew about the teams in Japan, and who the leaders were. No one tried to stop Crawford when he walked through the infirmary, into the restricted area - medical laboratories.

"I'm sure you have heard about Agent 003241, Naoe Nagi."

Some twenty men and women in white coats looked at him in silence. Of course they knew. The moment after Crawford ended the call with SS and sent Nagi to hospital for his allergic reaction, SS had contacted Rosenkreuz, who had let the medical staff know about it.

And by "know about it", it was "if this had been preventable, ie. if this had been your failure, you know what the consequences are."

Pausing for just enough time to induce fear, Crawford tossed the medical report, done by The University of Tokyo Hospital, onto the cold steel table.

One of the staff, a young man in his mid-twenties, walked over and gingerly picked up the pieces of paper. He studied it, and cursed under his breath. "Nut allergy...? How could we have missed this?"

"I'm Agent 003229, Bradley Crawford. You are?" Most of them knew who he was. Those who did not, now did. Nobody moved. Nobody dared to.

"Farblos med. team captain, Rudolf Richter."

Farblos, one of Rosenkreuz's top teams. Definitely not a team to mess with. Crawford almost hesitated, but medical staff were often borrowed around within SS and Rosenkreuz anyway, and these staff were ignorant on most of the the organisations' operations. They only knew they worked with "gifted" people, mostly children, but nothing beyond that. The risks were not large, and Crawford knew he had to bite the bullet and go through with it. He had to do this.

He slipped a hand into his pant pocket, and put the other on the table, leaning his weight on his fingers. He glared, through frameless glasses, into the man's eyes. "Andesner, I haven't submitted the report to Rosenkreuz - yet."

The team that knew more than their professional careers were at stake. Although mistakes were not common, any individual staff who ever made them had disappeared. Rosenkreuz said that they had been dismissed, but nobody could get into contact with any of them afterwards. The first time no one had suspected anything, but the second, the third... and now the mistake belonged to the entire team...

A moment later, Rudolf Richter looked away, too afraid to meet Crawford's eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was a whisper.

"What do you want us to do?"

Before landing in Germany, Crawford had explained the purpose of the trip to Nagi, and its implications. The boy had never seen the Council or the Elders, so it was better to have him prepared. Nagi gave no reactions then, and his expressions right now, as they prepared for the ceremony, were still unreadable.

"Yes Nagi, you do look like some brat who's going to inherit an insane amount of money from daddy."

Nagi rolled his eyes and studied his reflection, ignoring Schuldich's reply to his thoughts. He did not like wearing suits, plain and simple. Farfarello, drugged with traquilisers for this event, did not mind the suits, except Schuldich had done his necktie too tight so he loosened it a little.

He and Nagi had yet to speak their first word to each other.

They filed into the hall, which was only the size of a tennis court. Nine teams, including them, faced the three Elders and five Councilmen.

Neumann was there.

"I haven't seen you for a long time now, Schuldich."

"M'am." The German bowed slightly to the old woman, who had gone with Neumann to recruit Schuldich five years ago. It had been a rare event for one of the Elders to go herself.

"What do you think of the team?"

Crawford held his breath and waited for Schuldich's answer.

"We're good at what we do." The German, head still low, peered at the old woman with eyes partially hidden under green bangs, an indicative smirk on his lips.

The old woman was delighted. "And you, Nagi?"

"My time with the team is still short, but I believe in our potential." The boy replied in Japanese.

"Very good." The old woman studied Farfarello for a moment, but did not speak to him. She turned to Crawford, finally. "I expect results."

When that was over, the Elders left the room. Each Councilman then gave their instructions and warnings. Neumann was the only one who did not speak. He merely stood and walked to the teams.

//Do your jobs with all you've got.// Hands behind his back, Neumann walked from one team to another, studying them all with ice blue eyes. //I believe I don't need to stress the importance of loyalty.//

Everyone nodded. They knew none of them stood a chance against Neumann's telepathy.

When the telepath stopped in front of Crawford, his expression did not change.

//Nik, please keep an eye on Farblos' medical team for me.// Crawford looked straight at the man's eyes. //Help me.//

Neumann had to know what Crawford was planning, and that he had blackmailed the medical team. Being the telepath, he knew everything as soon as he probed into Crawford's mind, which the American was sure he had done.

Neumann did not reply to the request. //You should be able to create a mental realm now. I can feel it.//

//Mental realm?//

//It's the safest place you and your team can be in. If you can't do it, get Schuldich to help you.//

//But what's - //

Neumann flashed him a look. Crawford held his words back, knowing this was a dangerous place to discuss such things. But he also knew this would be his last opportunity to talk with Neumann: if The Plan should succeed, they would not meet again; if it should fail, Crawford would be brought back before the Council, yes, but he very much doubt he would have enough strength - and sanity - left to converse with the man.

//I hope this will be the last time we meet.//

Crawford knew well what that meant. //Nik - //

//Goodbye, Brad.//

* * *

//Go back inside. You're cold. And it's going to rain soon.//

After a moment of stare-down, Crawford gives up and goes back into his room to bury himself under the hotel duvet. It is nice and warm inside, but at this rate, he will be falling asleep again soon.

"Do you know if Niklas survived?"

That was, indeed, the last time Crawford and Neumann met. The German never made another appearance when Crawford went back to the headquaters to present the progress reports every three months. And after the chaos Schwarz had created, along with Kritiker's attack on various SS branches in Europe, there is no way to tell if Neumann is still alive.

//I don't know. Kritiker's rounding up what's remained of SS as we speak, but I think if Niklas' still alive, then he'll live through this too. Nagi will make sure of that.// Schuldich shrugs. //I can try to find him if you want.//

After searching for Crawford for nearly half a decade, Schuldich would like to say he has gotten very good at looking for people.

"No, not now. After Monday, I'll look for him myself."

At that, Schuldich's eyes darken to the deepest shade of blue, and he falls silent. Crawford and his plans, his future. None of it had ever involved him, since SS collapsed.

Some old habits do die hard. Crawford is not trying to change, or make up for anything he has done. Schuldich cannot say he is angry. He never expected anything from Crawford or asked anything of him, except that one time when the precognitive refused his most desperate plea, his only request... a quick death. Even now, Schuldich cannot tell who had been the selfish one, he or Crawford.

//You do that. And say hi to him for me.//

Nothing has changed. It is strange, that whilst Schuldich held no hopes nor expectations, he is still disappointed.

* * *

"'Weiß'. Japanese assassination group, a division of an organisation called 'Kritiker'." Crawford passed a disc to Nagi, who loaded it on the computer, and its contents were projected onto the wall. "Not much intel on them right now, but Takatori should be on their target list."

"Schwarz."

"Schuldich, nobody says anything or ask any questions until I have finished. I have made that clear in the beginning." Crawford snapped at his colleague.

"Sorry, I forgot okay? I'm not used to this 'meeting' procedure." The German sighed heavily, folding his arms on the dark wood table to rest his head on them.

//Our first meeting is video-monitored. Behave yourself, it'll make life much easier later on.//

//Damn. Sorry.// Schuldich sat up straight again.

"Since you've already interrupted me, tell us what you wanted to say now."

"The Council's letting us name our team, and since that assassination group thing is 'Weiß', and they're the ones we need to watch out for the most, we can call ourselves 'Schwarz'."

Nagi finally spoke up. "Is that German?"

"'Weiß' means white."

"'Schwarz' is black, then." Nagi deduced, and rolled his eyes at Schuldich.

After two seconds of silence, and Crawford could tell the other two were conversing silently, Schuldich grinned at the Japanese boy. "Lack in originality? I think it sounds quite cool. Do you have any better suggestions?"

"Schuldich..." Crawford growled. //Help me here, you idiot.//

"Sorry Crawford." //Sorry.//

Crawford coughed once and continued. "With instructions from the Council, our tasks, in order of priority, are these:" An new image was projected onto the wall. "Monitor Takatori, complete individual jobs from SS, and take out Kritiker. The last task may or may not involve working with the other teams. We only deal with Kritiker if time permits, but we must make sure Takatori is not harmed by them. I will give instructions when it is appropriate."

//Slow down, your English's too fast, Nagi's struggling and I can't translate and concentrate on you at the same time.// "Did you say _monitor_ Takatori?"

Crawford nodded. "He won't be told about your telepathy. Read the folders in front of you. I've allocated individual tasks."

"Technical... computing... and medical?" Nagi glanced up at Crawford, brows knotting.

"The tech. and med. teams will coach you. I want you to be expert on both within a month. Can you do it?"

//In a _month_? Aren't you pushing the kid too hard, Crawford?//

Nagi nodded firmly. "Yes."

//Gods, both of you are nuttier than Farfie, I swear. Speaking of who...// "How about Farfarello?"

The Irishman had been excused from the meeting for more treatments on his eye. "He'll be the primary fighter. No more questions until I say so."

//You're really sucking up to the Powers That Be.// Schuldich sent at Crawford with a fair amount of distaste, although his face did not betray anything inside.

//Do I need to explain myself?// The American glared into Schuldich's blue eyes. After a moment, he relented. //You think I enjoy sucking up? At least one of us has to do it to ensure our safety. You and Farfarello won't do it and I don't want Nagi to. So who else is left?//

Schuldich blinked in surprise, and did not reply.

"Schuldich, I want you to get Farfarello this evening. Nagi, report to med. lab. 21. The tech. team will be contacted when we arrive in Tokyo." Both Schuldich and Nagi nodded. "Questions?"

"How about our... domestic arrangements?" Nagi asked quietly, annoyed that he had to say "domestic arrangements" in Japanese because he could not remember the English term.

"Domestic arrangements..." Crawford said, for the benefit of the boy mostly. "We'll stay in our current apartments in Tokyo, and then move into Takatori's guest house. Farfarello will stay somewhere else initially to complete his treatment, then he'll move in. You'll be enrolled into a school."

//Schuldich, tell him I'll discuss that with him later.//

//Um, okay.//

When there were no more questions, Crawford ended the hour-long meeting, and sent Nagi on his way to the medical team. As Schuldich walked pass him on his way out, he told the German he wanted a word with him.

They were on their way out to find something decent to eat when Schuldich first spoke. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't know how things were going to work. Did I screw up anything?"

"Fortunately, no, I don't think so. I really should've warned you prior, so don't blame yourself."

The words had their desired effect, and Schuldich's shoulders sagged an inch with relief. "So what 'word' do you want with me really?"

//What's a 'mental realm'? Have you heard of it?//

Schuldich is slightly startled by the question. //Yeah, it's as the name says, a world inside your mind... everybody has one, but mostly in the subconcious mind. Some paranormals can conciously enter and exit their mental realms as they wish, and even take other minds in with them.//

//I see.//

//But there's a catch.// Schuldich pulled his coat tighter to himself when they left the building, cursing the snow. SS' location meant there was snow all year long. //If the mind dies, the body dies with it. I heard that Neumann had done something like that before: drag people's minds in and kill them in his mental realm, because they were physically too strong and other mental methods didn't work.//

The two hurried along in the snow, not wanting to feel the cold a second longer. It was something common between the two of them, Crawford generally just because he liked being very warm, and Schuldich always complained the cold made him want to sleep. And apparently he could easily feel cold when he slept too, something Crawford did not know until Nagi approached him and asked to get some thicker beddings. Cold and tiredness seemed interchangable for Schuldich, and Crawford wondered if the German's slightly low blood pressure level had to do with it.

"Why didn't we park in the underground carpark?"

"You were driving Schuldich, don't ask me."

They finally got to the car. Schuldich smiled when Crawford tossed him the keys. The American knew Schuldich liked driving. //You know that movie... _The Matrix_... if you die in the Matrix, you die for real. It's the same thing for a mental realm. Just think of a mental realm as a "matrix" that you can control, go in and out as you wish, and drag others with you if you're good enough.//

//So how do you make a mental realm?//

//Well I know how to... it's very important for telepaths to know how to do it.// Schuldich did not explain that further. He kept his eyes on the road. //But I can't take other minds with me. I'll tell you what I know. And are you taking me up on the empathy lessons anyway?//

//Tonight okay for you?//

//So soon? You're desparate for me aren't you.// Schuldich snickered, a hand leaving the wheel to tuck stray stands of hair behind his ear. //Yeah, sure, we'll start tonight.///

* * *

It had not been a pleasant experience for either of them. Crawford frowns as he recalls the strain in Schuldich's face that night when Crawford learned to deal with his empathy, which, according to Schuldich, is very good at blocking emotions from himself and others in the concious state which made Crawford a cold-blooded man, but clashes with his clairvoyance, making him feel more than he should during a vision.

Learning to control is not a difficult thing once he knew the trick, and Crawford had it mastered within several hours, by the end of which Schuldich had turned deathly pale, then finally passed out when he tried to stand up.

When Crawford realised Schuldich could not be woken up, he had carried the German, with Nagi's help to get him on his back, back to his room. Even though Schuldich was very light for his height, perhaps only around a hundered and thirty pounds, it had not been an easy task - smelling the faint scent of cologne Schuldich had always worn did anything but calm Crawford's senses.

He had stood beside the bed and studied Schuldich's face for a short while. He was a man of control, so it was not a problem for him. He was not going to give in to a mere crush that he knew was not going to last that much longer.

"You fainted in the end."

//Yeah, that was pretty lame of me.// Schuldich shrugs when Crawford shoots him a look. //But that's how the mind works. You keep pushing it until it gets stronger. I mean, Niklas rammed your mind as part of your training too. I thought I'd hold out, but obvisouly I couldn't.//

After that, Nagi showed his displeasure by throwing several items at Crawford telekinetically. Crawford had got a bad burise from a particularly heavy book, Nagi's English dictionary, in fact, that was thrown towards his head and blocked with an arm. The boy had been shocked that he actually managed to hurt Crawford, but he said nothing. No explanation or apology. Crawford did not expect him to, anyway. The boy did not know Schuldich's condition had to do with Crawford testing his powers, but nonetheless it triggered his anger which had been boiling since the meeting. He had been upset that he was allocated to do backup work when he made it clear since the beginning that he wanted his revenge on Weiß. Whether throwing the books had been intentional, or if Nagi just directed his anger at Crawford and lost control of his telekinesis, remains a mystery. 

"What if you pushed too hard and it overloads?" Crawford asks accusingly.

//Oh come on, that was so long ago, we're just gonna repeat the same conversation we had a couple of days ago if you keep this up. And anyway,// Schuldich cocks his head towards the front door. //There's a surprise for you on the other side of that door that you should pay some attention to.//

Arching an eyebrow, Crawford unwillingly leaves the warm bed and pads towards the door, turning up the heating on his way.

"You aren't pulling a prank on me are you?"

//Come on, you're a precog! You should've seen this coming.// Schuldich grins, and then adds, thoughtfully, //Unless the other party involved is really getting better than you in terms of willpower. Determined to see you, maybe?//

Crawford notes the "really" in Schuldich's words, then very cautiously opens the front door.

It is Nagi standing outside, his fingers curled, hand poised in the air, about to knock on the door. He looks up at Crawford, who towers over him by over half a foot, and manages a small smile.

Crawford, getting over his momentary shock, moves aside. "Come in, Nagi."

"I heard you talking, thought you're on the phone or have guests."

The young man sits down on the chair near the bed, waiting patiently for Crawford to settle down again. Crawford puffs some pillows to lean against so that he can sit up comfortably, then he considers the situation. Even though he knows Nagi must have tracked him down from the phone signals, he is still impressed. But the question is, why is he here now...?

//Bet you fifty dollars the kid's too worried about you.// Sitting at the end of the bed, Schuldich smiles. The last time they spent time together had been brief, and he did not have enough time to appreciate what a fine young man Nagi had grown into. He can break hearts, definitely.

"I thought we were going to meet on Monday?"

"Well I - " Nagi bows his head slightly and combs his hair once with long fingers. "Farfarello and I took ten flights too early by accident. Does that sound convincing? Is this okay, I'm not interrupting anything...?"

//You own me fifty~// Schuldich sings.

//I didn't accept the bet.//

Nagi notices Crawford is suddenly distracted, but does not comment.

"I'm okay, Nagi, you don't need to worry about me. I was just..." Crawford glances at Schuldich, who grins back at him. "Talking with Schuldich."

"You were..." Nagi follows Crawford's gaze. "I want to believe, I saw something strange back at his grave, but... I don't see anything now."

"Concentrate, and think about what it felt like to be near him. Remember the way it felt when his mind entered yours."

Nagi draws a small breath and tries. He looks at Crawford again, and shakes his head.

"Try again. Use your power and reach out. Feel for anything that doesn't seem normal. Be patient."

//It probably won't work.// Schuldich sighs a little and stands up, walking to Nagi's side.

After a minute, Nagi gasps. "There's a presence. Something familiar."

"Where is it?"

"It's..." Nagi adjusts his powers slightly, reaching for that presence. Then his eyes grow wide. "He's... right next to me? Schu is standing right next to me?"

"If you can feel him too, it means I'm not hallucinating." Crawford laughs dryly, and then suddenly stops. "Nagi?"

Nagi reaches out into the empty space beside him, but there is nothing, just air. His quiet, gentle voice quivers. "I can't see you. I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. Oh Gods, Schu..."

Crawford watches helplessly as Nagi turns hysterical, the slight body starting to tremble, cerulean-coloured eyes moist with tears, searching desparately around him, trying to see what he cannot. "You're really here, Schu... I..."

//Oh Nagi.// Schuldich murmurs, then bends down to wind his arms around Nagi's neck from behind, and kisses the top of his head. //I'm fine. I'm fine Nags. Don't you worry about me. I'm okay.//

"He says he's fine, don't you worry about him. In those exact words."

"Schu..."

Nagi can feel the German. One of the only people who never abandoned him. One of the only people he could be honest to, and really love. He is here, but not really. So close, yet so far away.

//Brad.//

//Yes?//

//Don't just sit there and watch! Give him a hug for me. His mind's a big mess, he needs some human contact right now.//

//I generally don't hug, Schuldich.//

//Fuck the "generally". This is nothing near general. And I know you've wanted to ever since the moment he left us.//

//Damn you.// Crawford half smiles at Schuldich. "Nagi."

Hastily, Nagi wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Sorry Crawford. I'm fine."

//Nagi's still got that "I must perform well for Crawford" complex.//

"No, Nagi, come over here."

Nervously Nagi walks to Crawford's side and sits down, obviously frightened that Crawford is going to scold him. Crawford shakes his head with a sigh. Perhaps in the past he really overdid it. Nagi still sees him as the ruthless leader, and in front of him, being twenty-one years-old means nothing. He is always a child to be disciplined.

"Upon Schuldich's request." The American simply says, then takes the young man into his arms.

Nagi gasps in shock.

Crawford sighs again, and presses Nagi close to his chest. "If you want to know, I cried too."

This undoes what restraint Nagi tries to hold. Strength drains away from him, and he sobs, tears he had held back since the news of Schuldich's death finally allowed to fall.

He does not know what, or who, he is crying for. For Schuldich. For Crawford. For Farfarello and himself.

For Crawford's decision to let each one of them have a new life, scattering Schwarz apart, tearing himself apart, because Nagi knew Schwarz was all that the man had.

For this is the first time Crawford holds him like this and tells him that yes, it is okay to be weak and yes, he has cried for Schuldich too.

[to be continued]


	17. Part 17

Hello and happy Christmas!

This is another "little break" chapter, just like part 5. I haven't abandoned this fic - just been too busy to write more. I hope to get to part 20 or so before the end of this holiday, after which I probably won't have time to write again for a while.

Thank you for all the comments so far! I think I won't be replying to each one individually (that'll make this pre-story note too long), but to Schuldich Sunde in particular, your observation on part 16 is right ^^ There are lots of such ideas throughout this fic, where a character thinks one thing but feel another, or convinces himself of something, not being true to himself...

I should keep this note short, so, on with the story. The next part will be up in the next few days.

=YS=

**Blinded**

Part Seventeen

//He's exhausted.//

//I can tell. He was very stressed.// Crawford bites his lip, gently easing Nagi into the bed. After shedding tears for several minutes, exhaustion took over the young man and he had fallen asleep in Crawford's arms.

Schuldich leans forward on the bed now, to study Nagi's face. There is so much love in Nagi it makes Schuldich's heart ache. He has, inside him, what the rest of Schwarz never had. Schuldich had always wondered what it would be like to love so intensely like Nagi, to feel those flames licking inside, burning, and wanting more to burn. On the surface, it seemed that Nagi was the odd one out that did not fit into Schwarz, but he was the one who gave them all - including Crawford - hope.

But hope for what?

Schuldich does not know.

Perhaps that was why things got so tough for them after they sent Nagi away to keep him safe from the SS. They felt no hope anymore.

That had been a heartbreaking thing to do, sending Nagi away. The people who were receiving him, as well as Schuldich himself, had been completely shocked when Nagi wound his arms around the telepath and held him tight for several moments. The boy looked at Crawford after that, the two of them studying each other's faces, both searching for words unspoken. Nagi had finally bowed at Crawford respectfully, the Japanese way. There was no doubt that he had wanted to hold Crawford too. But although Schuldich had known Crawford for so many years and had learned to read him without using telepathy, he simply could not guess what went through the leader's mind that moment.

_//Schu, take care of him.//_

That took Schuldich by surprise. //... Don't you worry about us. You look after yourself now. Be careful.//

//He needs you. Look after him. Promise me.//

//... Okay, I promise.//

Satisfied, Nagi walked away without looking back.

Who needed who? Who still needs who?

Who knows?

"How about Farfarello?"

"We got a room two floors down. He's sleeping." Nagi explains. He has woken up after falling asleep for just a short while, because, he says, he is hungry. "He didn't want to fly here so soon, but I insisted."

//An insistant Nagi is a scary Nagi.// Schuldich says, following two men out of the hotel. Crawford smiles at the remark.

"... Heh?"

"Schuldich just said you're 'scary' when you insist on something."

"Ah." Nagi smiles a little. "Farfarello's been reading lots of books. He reads and drinks and read and drinks, day and night. Then he can sleep for a long time."

Now that is something to stretch his imagination on, Crawford thinks.

"He's still... confused when it comes to religion." Nagi speaks in a softer voice. "Still doing what he likes. But he's found other things to put his mind on, too."

"And Sally?"

"I'm not sure. He's mentioned her a couple of times, Sally said this, Sally did that, but I haven't seen her. You know he doesn't talk very much."

In truth, both Nagi and Farfarello are the quieter types. Farfarello is capable of a good discussion if the topic raises enough interest, but putting the two together generally make a quiet pair.

Crawford leads Nagi into a traditional British pub. There is a small crowd, mostly men wearing football shirts of their favourite teams, watching a live match. They work their way to the other side of the small pub and sit down.

"And you?"

"... Me?"

They order their food and drinks.

//He can breaks hearts.// Schuldich, sitting beside Crawford, voices his opinion, twirling long red hair with a finger. 

Nagi is uncomforable when the topic switches to him. What is there to tell? Crawford has never asked him something like this before...

"Schuldich says you can break hearts."

Break hearts. Yes, that is a very Schuldich thing to say. Nagi smiles at his coke. "I haven't seen Tot since... you know." He says, using Japanese now. "I saw some other girls, from my workplace, but it never lasted. They know who I am, but it's still hard when you're different."

Taking a sip of his drink, Nagi looks up again. "This feels strange. I've never talked to you about these things before."

Crawford just shrugs. "A couple of days ago I was told to 'get married, go forth and multiply'. What's stranger?"

"What?" Nagi laughs. It is rare for him to laugh like this. "You, husband and father?"

Crawford just rubs his forehead and sighs with the little bit of melodrama his is capable of.

The meal passes nicely. Schuldich rests his head on crossed arms on the table and listens to the other two talk without interrupting. Crawford has asked once about Nagi's "workplace", and Nagi has replied with "it's fine", and that is it. The rest of the conversation is revolved around the travelling Farfarello and Nagi had done in Germany last week.

It is late when they return to the hotel. Nagi leaves the elevator two floors before Crawford.

"Would you like to have lunch together tomorrow?" He asks tentatively, holding the doors open. "I'll try to get Farfarello to join too."

Crawford just nods. For reasons unknown to himself, he is at a loss for words.

"We'll call you tomorrow then." Nagi steps out of the elevator with graceful movements and heads for his room. Then he pauses mid-step, hesitates for a brief moment, and turns back again to face his former leader.

"Crawford."

Crawford quickly holds the button down to keep the doors open.

"I'm really happy to see you."

Crawford nods again, unable to reply.

"You too, Schu. And thank you for keeping the promise."

With that, Nagi heads for his room. It is not until the young man almost disappears out of Crawford's sight that he realises he is still holding the doors open, watching Nagi leave. Something twists inside him.

"... Nagi!"

Surprised, Nagi's eyes widen and he turns back. "Yes?"

Crawford gestures for him come back to the elevator again. Nagi immediately obeys, out of habit and respect he had developed during his time as a Schwarz member. Arms crossed, Schuldich leans back on the cold walls of the elevator with a smile on his lips as he watches Crawford steps forward to embrace Nagi for the second time tonight.

"Cr... Crawford."

What other people think of him never matters. Those he holds close to his heart are the only people who matter to Crawford. He is not a man who asks for forgiveness. He cares too little, sees too much to ask for it. But Nagi... Nagi is different. Crawford had made every decision for Schwarz with Nagi's future in mind, but like Schuldich, Nagi deserved so much better. He deserved things Crawford felt he could not give him.

"Thank you. For coming here. For not hating me."

Finally able to react, Nagi puts his arms around the other man.

"This is from me, not Schuldich."

Nagi nods once, face buried in Crawford's black coat. "Quite long overdue."

Crawford chuckles. Yes, they should have done this five years ago when Nagi was sent away to safety.

"Schuldich and I are going to talk some more tonight. You're more than welcomed to join us."

"... I'd love that." Nagi is the first to pull away, smiling a smile that brightens his eyes. "I'll go check on Farfarello, and maybe leave him a note first."

The elevator, which Nagi has held open with his power, begins to complain with a noisy electrical buzz.

"Tell Farfarello to come too, if he wants."

"I'll ask him. See you in a while then."

The doors close as soon as Nagi backs out. Crawford glances back at Schuldich, who grins at him wickedly, his blue eyes glinting under orange-red bangs.

//You really shocked him, _Bradley-daddy_.//

//... I think I shocked myself more.//

Schuldich drops into Crawford's bed whilst the other man showers.

Nagi has really done it to him. Just like a smooth-talking devil, only everything he said is true, from his heart. Even though Nagi's mind is almost as hard to read as Crawford's now, Schuldich still knows him and can tell a truth from a lie. Just several hours earlier, when he cried in Crawford's arms, Schuldich caught every thought that went through the younger one's disturbed mind, and he could feel that heartache. Nagi cried not for himself, but for him, and for Crawford. For the world that has become less than what it was without Schuldich.

That hurts. Schuldich, assassin and manipulator extraordinaire, once a wanted man with a 20million dollar bounty on his head, is hurting because Nagi cried.

If that is what it means to mean something to someone, Schuldich would much rather prefer himself to mean nothing to Nagi.

Crawford is another matter. Whilst Schuldich could probably survive living with Nagi but being a no-one to him, he cannot say the same for Crawford. But is this a good outcome then, knowing that Crawford grieves for him? He does not want that to happen, yet...

What does he want?

Once upon a time, Schuldich had wanted revenge. He turned his back to the world when the world turned its back to him. He wanted to destroy all that is good, all that leads to joy, everything that he had been denied of simply because he was different. He still wants it, in a way, but now he pities people. He can tell now they had shunned him out of fear because they knew he was superior, he had what they could only dream of. Rosenkreuz and SS gave him that pride, he admits to that. It is the only other good thing they gave him, besides the control over his telepathy.

Then came a period, Schwarz, when Schuldich never stopped to think about these things anymore. Or perhaps he thought of it always. He wanted everything. Everything physical, emotional. Everything sweet or bitter. He wanted it all.

And now? All Schuldich wants is to stay in this expensive hotel room.

Flipping over on the bed, Schuldich almost laughs at himself. His goals are getting so small. But he can argue that he is just becoming more focused now. Too focused, to a point that witnessing Crawford's grief hurts him, yet gives him a high in a guilty way. It is not supposed to be like this. Schuldich never builds his joy on his teammates' pain - well maybe he did, once or twice, but definitely not like this. This is not what he wants at all.

Back to square one. What does he want now?

Schuldich smiles to himself. Perhaps he will never find out.

Nagi unlocks the door and lets himself in. It has been an hour since parting with Crawford at the elevator, and he has showered and changed into something more comfortable. Crawford gestures for him to sit down anywhere, so the young man pulls an armchair to sit near Crawford's bed. He does it with telekinesis. Before Crawford asks, he explains.

"It depends on my mood. Sometimes I get a bit lazy like Schu." Nagi says with a hint of a smile. "Most of the time I still use my hands."

Crawford nods with understanding. It had been difficult for Nagi just to accept that he had telekinesis. For him to use it in daily life was an even greater step that Crawford encouraged, but had not pushed, Nagi to try in the past. When that failed, Schuldich explained to him that Nagi felt inhuman to use telekinesis. He felt alienated - by himself.

"But pass me the chocolates over there would you."

Within moments, the box of chocolate flies into Crawford's hands without anybody needing to move. Nagi does a Schuldich-grin and shrugs.

//That's what I call "abuse of power".//

//You use telepathy for recreational purposes too, don't you?//

//It's hard to explain. Mindreading is like a drug I'm addicted to.// Schuldich picks a spot on the bed, nearer to Nagi than Crawford, to sit on. Nagi seems to have felt something and shifts a little, eyes wandering over the bed.

It is the age-old arguement Crawford no longer wants to have, so he avoids pointing out the fact that this "drug" is indeed a poison to the telepath's mind. He turns his attention back to Nagi instead.

"So Farfarello isn't coming."

Nagi shakes his head. "He's too tired. He's been reading for many hours. I could bearly wake him enough to ask him if he wants to join us. He says perhaps tomorrow he'll come."

"I see." Another bit of information Crawford thinks he has to chew on. "What name does he go by now?"

"Jei. He wanted to keep using 'Farfarello', but it's too... showy."

"And you're still using your own name."

"... My employer suggested I might want to change it. Not everyone there has seen me before, but Schwarz's name was well-known, and we have killed quite a few of their agents before. But I want to keep my own name." Nagi's voice dies away to a whisper, obvisouly not wanting to discuss this further. He quickly finds something else to say.

"Speaking of my employer, I called him and asked if he had retained any data from the old SS labs that talks about ghosts and similar phenomena. I didn't tell him why, of course. He said he'll have a look."

"That's great. Thank you, Nagi." Crawford says, arching an eyebrow at Nagi, who stares at him with wide blue eyes as if he has done something strange. "What is it?"

"You've hardly ever said that to me before."

Schuldich finds his chance to slip in a word. //You know, Nagi, I agree.// He puts an arm on Nagi's shoulder and pulls a face at Crawford. //If I haven't been here with him for the last couple of days, I'd have thought this Brad is one of those clones.//

Feeling a shift in the powers in the room, Nagi stares at where he thinks Schuldich is. "I think Schu agrees."

"Putting the two of you together, alive or dead, is always a bad idea for me." Crawford sighs. "Let's get on with it. We only have until Monday."

"What have you been talking about?"

"Schwarz."

[to be continued]


	18. Part 18

**Blinded**

Part Eighteen

Takatori Reiji was a dangerous man.

And there was the unmissable accessory in his office: the fishtank.

Those were the first two (unrelated) thoughts Crawford had about the Japanese politician, who leaned back into his chair and studied Schwarz, a Cuban cigar in his hand. His posture suggested the superiority of a man who had always been the predator. Under his scrutinising gaze, Crawford knew Takatori was not going to be an easy client.

As for the goldfish, that was just one of the few things Crawford would admit he did not understand. Just what was so fashionable about having fish swimming in one's office?

//Schuldich, report.//

Schuldich glanced at Farfarello, who actually made a rather good conversation that impressed their new client. It was not much of a conversation, truth to be told, it was Takatori asking Farfarello what he could do and Farfarello telling his honest answer: "I kill". The telepath bit back a smile and answered Crawford.

//The good news is that he likes Farfie. Otherwise I don't like what I'm seeing... He has this idea about controlling us. Thinks Nagi's too young, hates my green hair... And he doesn't like you very much.//

How interesting, Crawford thought. //Elaborate?//

//You remind him of his eldest son, somehow. Thinks you're just here to kiss his ass. "All talk and no work", in his own words.//

Crawford quickly recalled the information they were given. Takatori Reiji had two sons and a teenage daughter, who had a different mother. One of the sons was Masafumi, a twenty-eight years-old who wasted most of his time and his father's money on biological research that SS had shown interest in. The other son, thirty years-old Hirofumi, had supported his father's political career throughout by keeping a healthy balance with their political party.

//He has underestimated Takatori Hirofumi's importance. Social science is a fine art.//

//Oh, you mean you like being compared with his son?// Schuldich asked Crawford, amused.

//No. I'll have to rectify that.//

//I really like the way you phrase things.//

//Thank you. I'm going to borrow your ability for a moment.//

//Borrow...? What do you mean?//

"Schuldich, Farfarello, Nagi, wait outside."

Takatori's eyes narrowed at the sudden interruption. The Schwarz members followed Crawford's orders, not asking why because they knew Crawford would tell them the reason later if they should know, and Schuldich could always pull whatever he wanted from Takatori's mind. Crawford stepped forward, pulling off his glasses at the same time to wipe them with his tie. He did not look at Takatori when he spoke.

"Mister Takatori," He began, "I'd like to remind you that Schwarz is not employed by you - we're here to watch you. We will do whatever we see fit. That might include helping you to win the next election, but it also might not. Stay useful to the SS and we'll give you what you want."

Takatori's eyes narrowed even further, and his jaw tightened. He had not expected this at all. Crawford finally puts his glasses back on. He spoke with a smirk.

"Schwarz is my team, not yours. I consider myself to be a fairly friendly and reasonable person, but if you should do anything to my team that I don't like - and that includes insulting them because of their age or hair colour - then remember we're the paranormals, not you, and you can be easily replaced."

From Takatori's expression, Crawford knew he had succesfully made the man think that he was not only a precognitive, but also a mindreader.

"Dozo yoroshiku, Mister Takatori."

* * *

Nagi often looks back on his days in Schwarz, and each time he does so, he understands more about why each step was taken and each decision made. He begins to understand why, when Schwarz was hunted by the SS, Crawford sent him away instead of letting him fight with him and Schuldich. He knows why he was allocated the technical tasks. He sees why Crawford chose to let Takatori die, knowing that might plunge Schwarz into trouble, rather than helping that politician.

And then there are things he never figured out. Like why Crawford never told him things he thought he should know. Like why Crawford sent the three of them out of Takatori's office that day.

Now, having heard it from Crawford, Nagi finally understands what his former leader was doing. He was protecting his team. He told them to get out because he did not want to over-intimidate Takatori, nor did he want his team to know that he cared enough to stand against their client instead of taking the easier, more rational option of bending knee. Carefully Crawford controlled their perception of him, not letting any one of them to become attached or dependent on another.

Crawford was doing everything he could to make sure Nagi did not like him.

And Schuldich knew all this but did not tell him a word about it.

Bowing his head a little, Nagi smiles at the thought. Of course, of course. It had to work that way, Schuldich doing, or not doing, everything Crawford told him to.

It seems to be what his former leader's life was all about: manipulation. Taking and twisting everything at his disposal until the situation was to his favour. Schuldich always knew, at least to a certain extent, what was going on and he always played along. Nagi knew too, he knew he was being kept in the dark. Crawford sometimes told him things, but never the things that really mattered. Nagi was a secret card he carefully, secretly held on to until the time was right.

Nagi hated him. And at the bottom of his heart he knew he was somewhat scared of Crawford, which was probably exactly what Crawford wanted him to feel. It was this mixture of hatred and fearful respect that had him confused, because he knew he cared about his leader. No matter how Crawford treated him during his life as Schwarz, Nagi could never forget those genuinely concerned eyes checking him over after he lied about having a car accident, nor the fact that the man had gone out of his way to find his cat from a building under the danger of collapse, just to make him happy.

Nagi cared about him even more than he cared about Schuldich or even Farfarello, no matter how close him and the Irishman had become in the end. It makes him feel guilty admitting this, but that is the truth.

Looking back now, Nagi can smile about everything that had happened. Crawford protected his team. That was enough. For Nagi, that was enough.

* * *

With less than a week's practice, Crawford had created his mental realm.

He stood inside, studying the surroundings. Schuldich said how the realm looked reflected its creator's mind. So what did the dark background and strips of light say about Crawford? It was as if he was inside a spacecraft from some sci-fi movie, travelling at great speed, going somewhere, on a mission.

It also felt like he was laying on a push cart in a hospital, watching the fluorescent lamps passing over his head as he was rushed to the emergency room, helpless, his life draining away. But where did that come from? He had never been admitted to hospital like that before...

Crawford knew he physically was in his own apartment, sitting on the edge of the couch with Schuldich closeby. He could still feel his physical self, and could do simple movements whilst his mind was in the mental realm.

//You've got it?// Schuldich words rang like a tannoy annoucement in Crawford's realm. He sounded proud, but strained.

//Now how can I get you in here?//

Schuldich was completely surprised. For telepaths, the mental realm was a place of retreat when their powers get out of hand. It was a private and safe place that can, if one wanted to, be very dangerous at the same time. //Why the hell do you want me in there?//

//Just tell me how. I'll explain.//

//Fine. Invite me.//

//Invite?//

//Any telepaths can enter other people's mental realm by invitation. Strong ones can barge in or drag people into their own ones. I don't want to hack your mind, so you must give me a way in. Now think of me. Imagine a door, if you'd like.//

A moment later, Schuldich walked in through the door Crawford created. He looked around once and smiled, without making any comments.

//A word of warning. When you invite a telepath in, you're practically opening a gate for them to read your mind. Just so that you know.//

Crawford had guessed as much. But he had been planning for this for years now, and he was prepared to gamble everything he had. He trusted Schuldich, as a friend and colleague, not to pry into his mind. There really was nothing worth looking at anyway... except that simple, stupid crush that he had. But he was dealing with matters of consequence, he just had to believe that Schuldich would not read his mind in his vulnerable state.

Suddenly a thought came to Crawford's mind.

//What if I make a trapdoor right under your feet now?//

Schuldich actually laughed. //I die, duh. So try not to... Accidents can happen. I once almost killed myself in my own realm imagining a waterfall.//

Crawford just shook his head. So who was the one gambling everything he had?

//I'm going to tell you some things, and I'll only say them once, in here. Do not ask questions, and do not repeat what I tell you here to anyone.//

//... Okay.//

//That includes Farfarello and Nagi.//

//I know.// Schuldich sounded annoyed at the concept. He took a step back and sat down on the floor.

Crawford juggled the words in his mind, trying to see if there was a best order in which to tell Schuldich about his plans. But there was none, so he just jumped into the deep end and outlined everything, starting from their ultimate goal: escape from SS.

Schuldich sat quietly until Crawford finished. then he spoke, his voice low as a murmur. //You're going to use Nagi.//

//I told you not to ask - // Crawford caught himself. It was not a question, but a statement. //I told you in the beginning I'm going to use the telekinetic. The same way I'm using you.//

//There is a difference: I know what the hell is going on.// Schuldich sighed, moping his green hair away from his eyes with a hand. Then he stood and walked to Crawford. //I know Nagi better than you do, Crawford. But I don't know if this is the best for him.//

Crawford turned his face away, pretending to be looking at something in the distance. He could not stand Schuldich being so close and looking into his eyes like that. It unnerved him. There was still that something burning inside the telepath's eyes that Crawford could not understand but feared.

//Just trust my decision.//

//I do. You know that.// Schuldich nodded, and he began to fade away. //I'll watch them.//

//Remember what I've said, Schuldich.//

//Yup. Always.// Then he was gone.

Did Schuldich understand that last request? Crawford hoped he did. From now on, everything that he would do in the future would be because of all that he had said here. He could not foresee another safe opportunity to explain his actions, not if he wanted to keep his plans secret from Nagi, Takatori and SS.

He needed Schuldich to keep that simple faith he had in him, like he always did. And he needed Schuldich to help him make it all work, especially if he ever lost sight of their goal.

Did Schuldich understand that last request, or rather, that last plea? Of course he did. Schuldich proved it to him time after time.

* * *

Crawford's mental realm is like the eye of a storm, the centre of chaos - the safest, calmest place to be in, where psychic powers never conflict or interfere with each other. One's sense does dull though, when one's inside a mental realm. Its creator and visitors cannot respond to their physical surroundings as quickly as they normally can. Which was why, after Schwarz betrayed SS and murdered the Elders, none of Schwarz entered Crawford's realm again. Not even when Schuldich's headaches got so bad he pleaded and pleaded with Crawford to let him be in there just for a little while. With a bounty on their heads, they had to be sharp and on their toes all the time.

At other times though, Crawford's mental realm was where they plotted their escape. Wwhere Schuldich found his sanctuary. Where some things did not happen when they should... where some things happened when they should not.

Schuldich tries to shake the thought out of his head.

None of it escapes Crawford's eyes. "I thought I told you you can say whatever you want, Schuldich."

The mindreader shakes his head and grins at Crawford. //Not right now. Later.//

Crawford is slouching, almost completely laying down in the bed. To his left on a chair, Nagi sits cross-legged in the stuffed chair, just the way Schuldich likes to sit, having picked up many of the redhead's habits over time. To Crawford's right, Schuldich is laying on his side on the bed.

//I have loads of things to say. But I think I'll wait until you're done.// Schuldich looks away to study the ceiling. //That's if you don't mind staying after my funeral for a while, you know, to hear me out.//

Crawford furrows his eyebrows slightly. He turns to study Schuldich. //What do you mean?//

//You said you're going to look for Neumann after my funeral.//

For a long moment, Schuldich stares up at the ceiling, Crawford stares at the telepath, and Nagi stares at Crawford, until the man figures out what Schuldich means. He sighs and slides down further, so that he is laying down in the bed completely.

"Don't be such an idiot. I said I don't need your help to look for Niklas, I didn't say you aren't coming along." Sometimes, Crawford really wonders how Schuldich can be, honestly, very smart, yet occasionally be so dumb and assuming he can drive people up walls.

Schuldich turns now, looking at him with wide eyes, which he then roll, laughing at himself. He rakes a hand through red bangs, and chuckles a bit more at his own stupidity.

He is in Crawford's plans. Crawford says they are going together to do something, and Schuldich will not be needed for help, he will be there just for company. What more can he ask for?

"Crawford?"

"Yes?" Crawford has forgotten about Nagi's presence for a while. Nagi's gaze is politely averted, studying his own fingers rather than the man in the bed. It feels rude to stare.

Crawford begins to sit up. Somehow, it feels inappropriate to be laying in bed like this with Nagi sitting nearby, as if he is disrespecting the young man. It is not supposed to work this way, he had always been the superior and nothing in Nagi's behaviour now is suggesting otherwise, but it just does not feel right. Perhaps it is because of Nagi's immense psychic powers. Power-wise, Nagi had always been the strongest of Schwarz. Crawford knew he could kill any of them as easily as snapping a twig, and that was what enabled them to kill the Elders. Over the last few years, his powers have grown even more, and although Crawford is not afraid of Nagi - how can he ever be - he feels he is almost in awe of the young man.

Nagi sees Crawford sitting up to speak to him, and gestures for him to stop. There is no need for that. "I just want to tell you, if it's SS' Neumann you were talking about just now, then you won't - "

He stops mid-sentence, suddenly distracted.

Schuldich feels it too. //Farfie.//

"Farfarello's calling for me." The young man stands and straightens his clothes. "I should go see him..."

"We can call it a day. It's late anyway."

Nagi goes to the door. "So shall we... "

Crawford nods. "We'll meet for lunch tomorrow."

That extracts a small smile from the young man. He says goodnight and leaves.

//A real prodigy, that kid. He got quite a bit of telepathy now, on top of everything else.// Schuldich comments off-handedly. He turns so that he faces the man beside him. //So, back to the point, I can say whatever I want, right?//

At first, when he thought Crawford was going to leave, he thought he would save everything until later so that he could make the man stay just that bit longer. But now that seems unnecessary.

//I've got this question at the back of my mind for quite a while now, although it's more relevant to what you told me earlier than the stuff just now. So can I ask you?//

The gleam in Schuldich's eyes is making Crawford uncomfortable. Suddenly the temperature in the room seems to have dropped - or that is just his excuse to want to hide under his sheets. He knows he is not going to like this question. "You can, as long as it's within reason."

//Well I think it's perfectly reasonable. I just think I better ask you when Nagi's not watching.// Schuldich says rather casually, not unaware that Crawford is tensing up. //Now, about this crush you had...//

All of a sudden, Schuldich has flipped himself over so that he is hovering above the other man, trapping him between his arms and knees. Crawford has not seen this coming, he cannot move at all when Schuldich lowers his face, smiling that disarming smile of his. Blue, blue eyes full of curiosity hold Crawford's. Crawford's breath quickens. He cannot look away.

//Brad, did you ever fantasise about me?//

[to be continued]

_Author's note: I have a feeling people will want to kill me for stopping here..._

For your information, "Dozo yoroshiku" is a phrase used when people meet each other for the first time. It has the meaning of "pleased to meet you", and it literally translates to "please be good to me". The underlying meaning of the phrase is "I hope you will forgive me in advance for anything I may do in the future which may distress or offend you".

Yup, Crawford's one sarcastic bastard.


	19. Part 19

**Blinded**

Part Ninteen

Trapped.

His mind is telling him to look away, to sit up and perhaps throw Schuldich out of the room right now. But Crawford fights that urge. He will not run away from anything again - he has learned over the years. He is trapped between Schuldich's arms, under the man, on a bed. He will not run away, but he cannot steady himself. He looks up at Schuldich's face, just inches above his own, trying to calm his breathing but failing. Unconcisouly he grips the bed sheets, white knuckles showing, so that he will not try to push Schuldich away, something he had done too much of in the past, in one way or another.

Above him, Schuldich is just smiling gently, waiting for an answer.

There is a lump in his throat. Crawford swallows hard before managing a whisper.

"I said the question has to be within reason."

What does a man do when he has a crush? He fantasises. What does he do if he lives in the same house as his crush? He fantasises more. It is impossible not to. So what kind of a question is that?

The smile is fading from Schuldich's lips. Melancholy replaces playful curiosity as he stares down into the depths of Crawford's golden brown eyes, trying to find everything that could have been but did not, and shall never be.

//You knew I'd let you.// Schuldich says slowly, quietly. //We could have been lovers. What stopped you?//

Crawford blinks once, and breathes out. He does all of this slowly, and then he speaks.

"It's just a simple crush. And it was going to be over soon. And you're a man. And there's a difference between 'letting' and 'wanting'. And it could jeopardise - "

//Who says I didn't want it?// Schuldich whispers another question, cutting Crawford off short. He leans down further, their noses almost touching now, even though Crawford is backing away by pressing his head harder into the pillow. //That's just a simple question, don't get me wrong.//

"You never know what you want, remember? Now back off."

Crawford is getting on the defensive now, even he knows it himself. He hates being caught off guard, he hates being defenseless, he hates being questioned. His fists are beginning to ache from gripping too hard. He wants to throw them at Schuldich for cornering him this way, but there are a thousand reasons preventing him from doing it.

Schuldich's hand reaches back to untangle Crawford's from the sheets. The same hand then combs Crawford's hair like he often did with Nagi's. Tension drains away from Crawford with Schuldich's fluid motions, and looking up into those blue-green eyes, he no longer wants to shrink back, run, or hit anyone. But no one has moved. Is Schuldich using empathy on him? Not impossible, but more likely it is his simple touch that is performing the magic.

//If I ever had a lover, I would've liked it to be you. Someone who knows what a fucked up bastard I am,// Schuldich snickers a little, //and accepts that. Someone who wouldn't run a mile when I tell them "hey, I just killed someone today". Someone who is the opposite of,// He pauses, //and the same as me.//

"How about Nagi?" Crawford sees his chance to be the one asking questions now. After so much talk of him and Nagi being similar...

//Nagi... Do you know why he slept with me for so long, even before his crush?// Schuldich smiles sadly. //He knew I needed something; he gave me what he could. He was so sweet to me sometimes I thought I was in love with him.//

"... And?"

//And what? He was a kid, Brad.// The way Schuldich says his name sends a shiver through Crawford. //But if he ever tried to initiate anything with me... I think I'd happily let him. I don't know. Perhaps I wanted or needed something... I don't know.//

"... Must we talk like this?"

Schuldich ignores that question.

//Do you remember the night we moved into Takatori's guest house? You and Farfie had some philosophical talk. I think he eventually freaked you out.

//Anyway, Nags and I were out on the balcony, and he asked me if I was in love with you.

//I knew why he asked me that. And there were times when I thought, shit, I'm obsessed with Brad Crawford, I'm practically worshipping him, and I'll probably be doing this until I die because I'm definitely going to die before him. And then I'd say to myself, what the fuck is wrong with that? Sounds great to me.

//I told Nagi no, I wasn't in love with you. But honestly I wasn't that sure.//

The two men stare at each other.

//Surprised? Am I scaring you?//

No. Yes. No. Yes, but not really. All that Schuldich has justed confessed, and his actions right now, are typical of him. It is just who he is. That however does not mean Crawford does not feel like an animal caught in a trap, at the mercy of his predator, and something to be feasted upon.

Crawford shakes his head. "Not too much. Just not comfortable to talk in this position."

Schuldich seems to have found something amusing enough in this situation to grin about. But his grinning sometimes does not mean anything. He can be feeling anything or nothing and still be smiling, grinning. Some may find him amusing; some frightening; and some, rather tragic.

"That was a hint for you to move."

//I know. I'm ignoring it.// If it is possible, Schuldich seems to be pressing even closer, lowering his body as well, almost laying on top of Crawford now. //You can ask me things, you know.//

Crawford sees it now. The redhead is daring him to ask for the one answer they both want to know but are avoiding, waiting for the other side to ask first, dancing around it until one of them cannot bear not knowing it any longer.

No, not so soon. Crawford is not going to give in just yet. But there is something else he can, and want to ask, just to be fair and to satisfy his own curiosity.

"Did you ever fantasise about me then?"

//Didn't everyone?// Schuldich waits a while before replying. //That cleaning lady who came to our house weekly, she did; and there was Takatori's eldest son who was just coming out of the closet; a lot of the women in SS did; I think Neumann did; even Nagi did, once or twice when he hit puberty.//

Crawford begins to think he has asked the wrong question.

The mindreader watches Crawford's face redden in shock. What a rare sight. //Me too. Of course I did. All the damn time.// He draws out the last few words, his nasal voice almost purring, caressing Crawford's mind. He studies Crawford's face. If there is no reaction, if the man does not move, he shall kiss him, Schuldich thinks. Should he do that? Will he do that? Yes he will. Yes. He gives himself three more seconds. If Crawford still does not move in the next three seconds - 

Crawford can stay put no longer. He sits up quickly, body and limbs going through Schuldich as if he is made of nothing but air. He looks for a way to hide his face that is rapidly heating up, but finds none.

//Too much to handle, oh mighty Brad Crawford?// He has gone way too far. Schuldich knows it. But he could not help it - doing what he should not is one of his habits Crawford always told him off about but never managed to correct. And in the past he only needed to smile to save himself from Crawford's anger anyway.

"Too much."

//I suppose you don't want the details then? Of my fantasies.//

Crawford gapes at Schuldich, shocked. His mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he can reply, annoyed. As a precognitive, he hates being surprised. But he has brought this unto himself. "... No, thank you."

They stare at each other. Crawford can feel Schuldich's weight on him as the redhead sits back on his legs, but that has to be his own imagination. Schuldich feels and looks so real now, his presence so strong it is hard to believe he is only a ghost or something that does not belong to this world. If anything, Schuldich seems to be even more alive than he was before, although that does not make any sense. Perhaps this prolonged mental speaking has peaked Crawford's senses. Perhaps with Schuldich being what he is now, Crawford has gone from feeling for him rather than seeing him.

//Well?// Schuldich breaks the silence first, his blue eyes still holding Crawford's golden brown ones..

"What?"

//Do you want me to kiss you?//

Crawford covers his face with his hands. "No."

He cannot take any more of this. This is just not the kind of situation he ever gets in. This is more like the kind of joke Schuldich and Nagi would pull together, just to try to catch him out, which they never managed to do except for the first time with their lie about crashing his car.

There are no more words from Schuldich for a while. He sits there, waiting for Crawford to look at him again.

"Now what?"

//Look at me when you answer! Do you want me to kiss you?//

Crawford takes a deep breath. He looks inside himself for an honest answer, not one of quick denial or plain lust. A honest, true answer...

"No."

Schuldich snickers like a child, red hair tumbling forward and hiding his face. He sweeps them back with a hand, then gets off his companion, finally, still unable to wipe the smirk off his face. //You know, loads of people would've jumped at the chance.// He catches Crawford rolling his eyes. //What, you think I'm bluffing?//

Crawford shakes his head. Recalling the moment he first sat eyes on Schuldich, and his immediate reaction of taking him onto his team without the slightest thought on the potential problems, how can Crawford doubt what Schuldich just said? In the past he had to try so hard not to fall prey to Schuldich's charm, and back then Schuldich had not even tried anything. If Schuldich had tried, he could have had anyone he wanted.

Suddenly a question comes to Crawford's mind: What exactly happened between Schuldich and Silvia? Silvia's words, when she and the rest of Fablos clashed with Schwarz some five years ago, rung in Crawford's head.

_"Oh, you're here too, Schuldich? Well, have you gotten any better at making a girl happy?"_

What could have happened between Schuldich, who knew he could have anyone he wanted, yet made no move on the one he wanted "all the damn time", and Silvia, who lusted after the same man?

But Crawford is in no position to ask now. It is something of the past, and it does not have anything to do with him, really.

//You look like you're going to fall asleep.// Schuldich voice brings Crawford's mind back to the room. He stands, straightening his clothes unnecessarily. //So, see you tomorrow.//

Crawford's eyes follow Schuldich as he moves across the room. Schuldich is at the door - he still likes to use it like a real person would - when he stops, answering Crawford's question before it is asked.

//I want to see Nagi.// There is an odd look on Schuldich's face, but it is quickly replaced by a grin. //And you probably need some personal time, I've hoarded you for too long. Night!//

He is gone before Crawford has said anything, but back in a blink as well.

//Did you ever realise, we've known each other for so damn long and lived together and did loads of shit together, but we've never said goodnight?// The redhead smiles, slipping his hands into his coat pockets.

Crawford is beginning to ask himself why, since Nagi left the room, he seems to have no answers for anything that Schuldich has said so far. Maybe he is too tired to think now.

"Well... goodnight, Schuldich."

The redhead's smile turns into a satisfied grin. //Night, Brad. Sweet dreams.//

+++

All lights in the room are switched off save Nagi's lamp on the nightstand. Curled up warm in his bed, Nagi watches Farfarello. On another bed just a few feet from his, the Irishman sleeps, seemingly peaceful now - if peaceful is a word that can be used on him - after waking up earlier and needing to talk. Silently Nagi pushes himself up and leans over to get a closer look, and to his satisfaction Farfarello has truly fallen asleep.

At that moment, the air in the room seems to have suddenly changed. Nagi blinks in surprise, but not bothering to get up. "Schu?"

//Indeed it's me.// Schuldich says with a smirk, knowing that no one can hear him. With hands in his pockets, he walks to Farfarello's bedside, and peers at the Irishman's face. Nagi senses the movement, and traces it with his eyes. He knows where Schuldich is, but he is looking straight through him.

"Farfarello... he's got a problem. He's been thinking about it for weeks. He just decided to tell me what it's all about, so he called me down." Nagi speaks even quieter than usual, not wanting to wake Farfarello up.

Schuldich presses his lips together in thought. Beside religious beliefs, what can trouble their former resident psycho?

"Sally wants a baby." Nagi tells him, not needing to be asked.

//Hmm. No wonder.// Schuldich nods. Women and their family dreams. That really is a problem. There is a high chance a baby from paranormal parents will also be a paranormal. Even with the downfall of SS and Rosenkreuz there is no guarantee that children with special conditions will be safe; paranormals have been hunted all through human history. And there is a high chance of mental abnormalities in these children. Not to mention the responsibilities of parenthood.

Schuldich cannot help but snicker at the image of his friend being a father. Nagi he can imagine, with a child or two, even Crawford, although it would take a very great woman to have his children and that chance is slim, but not Farfarello. And of course not himself. He dislikes children, and cannot even imagine passing his curse of telepathy onto a child he has to take care of. But he has not come here to think about parenthood...

Nagi looks around again. Schuldich is moving towards him, he can feel it.

Without a word, Schuldich crawls into Nagi's bed, curling up behind to the young man.

"... Schu?" Startled, Nagi tries to push himself up, but something is stopping him. It feels as though an arm is draping over him, the way Schuldich did when Nagi first joined Schwarz and they shared a bed.

//Just let me stay here for a bit.// Schuldich buries his face in the crook of Nagi's neck, wondering if Nagi can feel his breath. //Hmm... you've grown so much taller.//

Nagi cannot find words to describe what he is feeling. Schuldich is a presence, a power to Nagi's paranormal body. Something immaterial, something familiar. And like always, he senses evil in Schuldich. The feeling sharper than ever because of his own strengthed abilities and Schuldich's form of existence, perhaps. There is no denying that Schuldich is an evil man, but he is always kind to Nagi. Despite who and what he is, Schuldich can and does love. Something probably even Crawford overlooked, Nagi suspects.

"Schu, what's wrong?" Nagi asks, his voice gentle.

What is wrong? Nothing. Schuldich smiles sadly. He just wants to think. And hold Nagi like he did when Nagi was little.

//Shhh... I just miss you. And I want to think.//

"What happened? Schu, you must tell me. What's wrong?"

Why is Nagi asking, when he cannot hear his answer anyway? Schuldich's hand moves slowly, pressing a finger on Nagi's lips. Biting his lips, Nagi nods, knowing what Schuldich wants from him now. Quiet companionship.

Even if Nagi can hear his words, Schuldich does not know what to say.

He had missed the greatest thing ever in his life. It was there, and all it would have needed was a gentle push, and maybe it could be his. It was there. Something he wanted desperately but he did not know it himself. It was right there in front of him.

And now, it is no more. There is no going back.

Crawford had looked at him, and he said "no".

[to be continued]


End file.
